


James Bond: And the Hacker Ran Away with the Agent

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Humor, James and Alec are rogue agents, M/M, More tags to be added, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, and now Q is too, references to past off-screen torture and rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond and Alec Trevelyan were once MI6 agents, but went rogue a few years ago. James was captured and held for all of three days before escaping, and when Alec meets up with him he finds that James brought back a souvenir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** This was an idea I'd had for a while, and I just wanted to write a drabble. I posted it on Tumblr about three months ago and only recently found it again, so I figured I'd post it here. Enjoy.
> 
> {Dreamer}

'Oh _really_ , James, _really_?' Alec near-shouted when he walked into the hotel to find not just James, but a twink sitting on the bed. Said twink blushed slightly but sat up straight, chin held high, proud even when faced with a rather large rogue MI6 agent carrying multiple weapons.

'What?' James blinked, blue eyes wide and innocent. Which worked on the one-nighters James brought back all the time, but not on Alec. He'd known James too damn long.

'Did you _have_ to pick someone up when escaping MI6?' Alec asked.

James raised an eyebrow. 'And what if he was just some guy I picked up, and you went and spilled all our secrets?'

Alec snorted and said, 'Seeing as how there are stolen, top secret documents everywhere, as well as a multitude of weapons, I'm assuming that you nicked this one from Her Majesty herself.'

James tilted his head, looked at Q, and then looked back at Alec. 'Yeah, alright; I did,' he finally admitted.

Alec sighed and dumped his bags by the door before walking closer. The boy- and really, he looked barely out of his teens- kept his eyes on Alec. The blonde paused just before him. And stared.

James' eyes were back on the documents he was reading over, and he didn't look up as he said, 'Eyes off, Alec. This one's all mine.'

'Gonna keep him, are you?' Alec questioned. 'He needs to be walked twice a day and fed _at least_ -'

'I'm not a dog,' the boy interrupted. And dear God, his voice made him sound like he was eighteen, _maybe_ nineteen. 'Nor am I deaf,' the boy added.

'Right,' Alec hummed, 'I really don't care.' The boy scowled. 'So come on, let's hear it,' Alec clapped his hands together. 'Who are you, where exactly in MI6 did you come from, and what did James do to convince you to run off into the sunset with him?'

James snorted. 'I didn't convince him, actually. He's the one who broke me out.'

'Really?' Alec asked. James nodded. 'Well, who are you?' he asked again.

The boy hesitated, his eyes briefly darting to James before fixing back on Alec. Finally, he said, 'You can call me Q.'

Alec stared a bit. Shifted on his feet. Stared a bit more. James counted. _Five, four, three, two_ -

'You stole the _Quartermaster_?!'

James chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Three days earlier** _

  
  


If M was trying to keep this a secret, she'd failed rather miserably. Everybody, from Moneypenny right down to the guy who refilled the coffee machine in the cafeteria, knew that the former 007, the infamous James Bond, had been caught several hours ago and detained in an MI6 holding cell.

Q would never deny that he was curious. He'd practically grown up at MI6 hearing about the former legend, the man who could do _anything_ and seemingly escape death time and time again; the man who had seemed so loyal to M and Britain, only to defect and disappear with a fellow double-oh.

Q was sitting in his office, tapping his stylus against the mess that he called his desk. He usually kept it in order, but he'd been up and running for over 24 hours now, and had more important things to focus on then the clutter of paperwork, tablets, and pens. Who used paper anymore, anyway? M knew that Q detested it, yet every other department sent him thick clumps of _paper_. What a waste.

He was brought out of his musings when a few Q-Branch techs raced past his office, all suddenly dropping whatever they were screwing around with in favour of sitting at their desks, or standing before the projects that they were supposed to be working on. Q was puzzled for all of four seconds before M herself strode into the large underground room.

She bypassed everybody, not looking aside, and made her way to Q's office. Q didn't both sitting straight, or fixing his desk/hair/clothing. M knew what he was like, and if she wanted him to act any differently she could go to hell.

'Q,' she greeted when she stepped into the office.

'M,' he responded. She was holding a black box, about the size of your average shoe box, and Q tilted his head. 'Is that for me?'

'Yes,' she said, not beating around the bush. Hmm, must be important. 'This is everything that we found on James Bond when we brought him in.'

 _That_ made Q sit up, and he had to stop himself from making grabby hands and trying to rip the contents from her fingers. Instead he took a breath and watched as M quirked an eyebrow before crossing the distance between them. She set the box down and removed the lid.

Inside was a belt, a smartphone, a set of cuff-links, and what looked like a bottle of nail varnish. Interesting.

'I need you to scan all of this and see if you can find something that security couldn't,' M ordered.

'And the mobile?' Q asked.

'Won't turn on, no matter what we tried,' M relayed. 'We didn't want to try any further in case...'

She trailed off, but Q understood; in case it was a bomb. Or poisonous gas. Or whatever the hell else rogue double-ohs carried on their person.

'Understood,' Q nodded. He hesitated, eyes uncertain on the box, and M raised her white eyebrows.

'A problem?' she asked.

'Can I see him?' Q asked. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that M would say no. Stupid, _stupid_. Of _course_ M wouldn't let the Quartermaster have face time with a rogue, dangerous double-oh. Especially not this Quartermaster. It might give him _ideas_.

'No,' M said, like he knew she would. 'Just get to work, Q.'

And with that she was gone, sweeping out of his office and out of Q-Branch, like she had better things to do. Perhaps she did, Q mused as he reached into the box for the contents. She had a former friend to interrogate.

'You are _gorgeous_ ,' Q breathed as he looked over the mobile. It was an old design, about three years out of date, but Q could tell that it was different. It was too bulky, the casing too hard. 'What secrets are you hiding?' he murmured and switched the tabs on his computer.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'I already said no, Q,' M stated.

Q ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 'You don't seem to understand what I'm saying,' he said with barely contained anger. 'We _can_ get into the phone, but there's a problem.'

'And that would be?' M asked.

'There's a virus installed on the phone's memory; some of the best coding I've ever glimpsed.'

'Glimpsed?' M interrupted, and Q nodded.

'Yes, _glimpsed_. Because I can't unlock the phone without setting off the virus, which would destroy everything saved on the phone, as well as the phone itself. If I had the password, I could bypass activating it. _Then_ I could study the virus, or my techs could. We can find the coding and work out how to counteract it. Because this?'

He brandished the phone at her. M didn't look amused.

'This is an old phone, M,' Q continued, 'but the coding's been on it since Bond got it. Whoever programmed it probably gave him the phone. That means that there's someone out there selling highly protected devices to rogue agents and anyone else who has a problem with Britain. And we can't stop it.'

M was silent for a few seconds, red nails tapping slowly at her smooth, polished desk. 'You're telling me that you can't hack the phone yourself?' she demanded.

Q scowled at the prod at his skills, but ignored it. 'I could in two or three weeks,' he admitted. 'But if Bond gives me the password I can start studying it today.'

'Q-'

'What have we got to lose?' Q demanded. 'If he says no, then I hack into it myself. If he says yes, we save ourselves three weeks.'

M sighed almost noiselessly, her eyes roaming over Q's face slowly. Q tried to keep himself a mask of professionalism. Yes, he _did_ want to find out how the virus worked, where Bond had gotten it, etc. But a larger part of him just wanted to _meet_ the man. He'd looked 007 up in the past and found him fascinating. He wanted to speak with him, perhaps learn something, figure out _how_ the man had gotten out of MI6.

'Fine,' M finally said. Q had to stop himself from doing a dance. 'But listen to me carefully,' she continued, making Q stand completely still. 'Your conversation will be monitored,' M stated, 'and under no circumstances are you to discuss anything that could put this organisation in danger, do you understand?'

'Of course,' Q said through gritted teeth. It was like she didn't _trust_ him. Q wouldn't.

'If you discuss something that I dislike, we will be having words,' M said, her blue eyes sharp. 'Is that understood, Quartermaster?'

Q bowed slightly. 'Yes, ma'am.'

She nodded after another beat of silence, and Q knew that he was dismissed. He walked stiffly out of her office, and didn't offer Moneypenny his usual small smile. He was too focused on what she'd said, and what he would say to 007.

It seemed that M still didn't trust Q, which was understandable. Four years wasn't enough time to completely wipe out what Q had once been. Q was sure that those feelings, that mind-set, would never actually leave him. M seemed to hope that it would; that, one day, Q would be the good little programmer that she told the British government he was.

It wouldn't happen, Q thought as he entered the elevator, watching the silver doors slide shut before him. Q had been part of MI6 for four years. He'd been a criminal for nine.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


James Bond was being kept in one of the lowest parts of MI6, only storage and weapons kept on the floors below his. Q-Branch was at the other end of the building, as was the doors that led to the underground garage. Q wondered if it was a good idea, keeping a man well known for his daring feats of escape near the exit.

But it wasn't his problem. Q twirled the mobile phone in his fingers as he was escorted down the brightly lit, concrete hallway. He had to pass through two security checks, his credentials looked over, his pockets and person searched, as though they didn't _know_ who he was. Q had to ponder if M had added the extra checks just because it was him.

No matter. Q's heart beat slightly faster in his chest when he finally entered the main room. It was rectangular, a bare concrete wall on one side, glass-fronted cells on the other. There were only six, with a stainless steel table bolted to the floor before each one. Q passed all of them, two security guards either side of him, before they came to the very end.

Q had already noted the mistakes M had made. They should have put Bond in the middle, or at the very front. Q knew from hacking the CCTV cameras that there was a blind spot it you stood in the very front corner of Bond's cell, where the glass connected with the wall. The microphones also didn't quite reach that far, if you spoke quietly enough.

While Q had been thinking, the guards had finally left him alone just beside the table bolted before Bond's cell. They'd gone back to the door, sitting either side of it on chairs that had also been bolted to the floor. Their jobs must be so _boring_ , Q mused before turning to face the cell.

It was blindingly white, the walls, floor, and ceiling all painted the same bright shade. There was a bunk bolted to the wall and floor to the right, a small stainless steel sink and toilet to the left. Other than that, nothing. Air holes had been drilled into the glass before Q, and the reinforced glass door had a small flap cut into the bottom to allow food to be pushed through. A small card-reader was stuck to the door, lights currently red.

Bond himself was sitting on the bunk, back pressed to the wall, facing the room at large. He was wearing grey trousers and a matching shirt with a serial number stencilled on the right breast.

Q had seen pictures of Bond, of course, but it was nothing like seeing the man in person. For one thing, Bond was four years older, had fresh scars on his neck and hands, his wrinkles a little deeper, eyes a little different. He was broader, taller than Q would have thought, with dark blonde hair cut short and bright, bright blue eyes. His face was also covered in stubble, grey mixed in with the blonde, and Q wondered if he'd go grey prematurely due to his occupation.

Bond was handsome, Q supposed. He had a strong jaw, pretty eyes, and hair that would look good styled. Q also knew that Bond looked _really_ good in a suit. His ears were a bit wonky, though.

'Hello,' Bond broke the silence first.

Q took a soft breath and sat on the table; there were no chairs. 'Hello,' he echoed.

Bond tilted his head. 'I was told that the Quartermaster wanted to talk to me.'

Q stiffened, eyes narrowing. 'I am the Quartermaster.'

Bond barked out a laugh before saying, 'You _must_ be joking.'

'Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?' Q demanded.

'Because you've still got spots,' Bond retorted.

'I don't have spots!' Q snapped, hand twitching to come up and touch his face. He was still in his twenties, okay? It was perfectly normal to still get a pimple or two, and the cold weather wreaked havoc on his skin.

Bond chuckled softly, and Q internally cursed him. Damn it, the man was _attractive_. Why did Q always have to go for the bad boys? And Bond was a _little_ more dangerous than a teenager in a leather coat with a motorbike.

'Okay,' Bond said, breaking the silence once more, 'so you're the Quartermaster. Where did M find you?'

'That's not important.'

'I think it is.'

'Why?'

Bond stood suddenly, long legs unfolding beneath him. His feet were bare, and Q could see the scars across his toes, the tops of his feet, as though someone had sliced into them for _weeks_. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

Bond walked across the small cell until he could lean against both the white wall and the glass, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his broad chest. Q's heartbeat quickened once more. Did Bond know that that was the one spot that the cameras and microphones had trouble picking up?

'Where did M find you?' he asked again, voice soft.

'I'm not here to discuss myself, 007,' Q replied.

'007?' Bond echoed. 'I haven't been called that in a while.'

'007 and 006 were never re-assigned,' Q told him. 'You defected, you weren't killed in action. The first few new double-ohs refused the call-signs, and eventually M gave up.'

'Interesting,' Bond hummed. 'Anyway-'

'This phone,' Q interrupted. He held it up, and watched recognition flood Bond's eyes, followed by satisfaction.

'Let me guess,' the older man said, 'you can't get into it?'

'I could, given enough time,' Q replied.

'How long?' Bond asked.

'Between two and three weeks, depending on how little sleep I get and how many meals I skip.'

Bond whistled, 'Impressive.' He then looked Q up and down, eyes narrowed and calculating. 'You shouldn't skip meals.'

'Why not?'

'You're skinny enough as it is.'

Great, just what Q needed; someone else worrying about his weight. Moneypenny cared because she was a sort-of-friend. M cared because she had no use for an anaemic Quartermaster. Medical cared because they thought that it was Q's way of “rebelling” and “lashing out”. Load of shit.

'The mobile,' Q decided to move on, 'I need the password.'

'Why?' Bond asked.

'Because I thought I'd be nice and ask,' Q retorted, making the blonde chuckle again. 'If you tell me it saves me two weeks of work. If not, I'll get into it anyway.'

'Eventually,' Bond said.

'Yes, eventually,' Q agreed.

'Mm,' Bond hummed. 'Tell me, why is my mobile so important to you?'

'Because it's clearly important to you,' Q responded.

'How so?' Bond asked.

'You didn't get rid of it,' Q said. He rolled the phone over in his fingers, the black of the case a stark contrast to his pale fingers. 'You had ample opportunity to do so. I read the reports of how you were captured. You managed to evade the agents sent after you for six hours. You were invisible for four of those hours. You could have dropped the mobile anywhere, but you didn't; you held onto it. Which tells me that it must have _something_ on it that's important to you.'

'And that means that it's important to MI6?' Bond questioned.

'Negative,' Q said with a head shake. 'It could just have pictures of your favourite stripper for all I know.'

Bond snorted. 'Yet all this drama, all this effort, just to find out what?'

'I'm curious,' Q shrugged a shoulder. 'And I want to study the virus that was installed three years ago.'

Bond ran his eyes over Q again, but this time there was more to it than blatant amusement. 'You're clever,' he finally said.

'Of course I am,' Q responded, 'I'm the Quartermaster.'

'No,' Bond shook his head, 'no, you're intelligent, I got that. Otherwise M wouldn't have assigned you as Quartermaster. No, you're _clever_ in a way that none of the other techs are. At least, not the techs that I worked with at MI6. You think outside the box. _You_ think like an agent.' He paused, watched as Q squirmed ever so slightly. 'You think like a criminal.'

If Q were less of a man, he'd have run right then. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow and held Bond's eyes with his own. It seemed to be what Bond was looking for, but it still surprised the man. His lips twitched upward, and he shuffled back ever so slightly.

Suddenly Bond stood and went back to the bunk, re-taking the position he'd been in when Q had first entered. '22365-dash-alpha-LJT-question mark-KK4,' Bond stated. He quirked an eyebrow. 'Do you need me to repeat it?'

'I have an eidetic memory,' Q responded and slid from the desk.

Bond chuckled. 'Good evening, Q,' he said.

'Bond,' Q responded. It wasn't until he was back in his office, after having been thoroughly searched again, that he wondered how Bond had known that it was evening. And why it was that the ex-agent hadn't called him “Q” until Q was leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I think I should point out that Skyfall didn't happen in this story. I just couldn't be bothered trying to figure out _how_ it did happen without Bond there. Also, yes. I have continued it. Bravo. The words “drabble” and “one-shot” are not in my muse's vocabulary. Which means that I'll have to change the title at some point. Maybe. If you have any ideas, let me know.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {Dreamer}


	3. Chapter 3

_**Two days earlier** _

  
  


_Harrison fidgeted. He couldn't help it; he'd always been a twitcher. And currently there was nothing to play with, apart from the short silver chain that linked the cuffs around his wrists to the steel table before him. He tapped at the table rapidly as he waited, eyes wandering from the grey-washed walls, to the pale green door, and then to the mirror opposite him that reflected his image back._

_His hair was too long, almost reaching his shoulders now, his glasses still cracked from where he'd been slammed into a brick wall. There was a gash on his right cheek, a bruise and peeled skin on his left cheekbone. He was tired, evident from the dark shadows under his eyes, and his clothing was dirty, torn, from his flight through London._

_Finally, the door open, and Harrison twitched only slightly. He was quite proud of himself, but still nervous as hell. He was used to pain, and hunger, and thirst, but he knew what MI6 was capable of. It wasn't like he had anything important to tell them, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't make him bleed, just in case._

_M entered the room, followed by what appeared to be a young Q-Branch technician, and an agent whom Harrison assumed was there for security. As though Harrison could cause any damage. He was skilled in the art of self-defence, more than these people realised, but against three people, one of whom was a highly-trained agent? He had no hope._

_M took the seat opposite him, and the young tech sat to the side, opening a laptop and sitting it on the desk-top. Harrison's fingers twitched to reach out, to touch, to type away and ignore what was currently happening._

_'Please state your name for the record,' M ordered. And it_ was  _an order; as though Harrison were one of her little minions._

_'Haven't figured that out yet?' he replied._

Always a smart-arse, Harrison. A cocky little bitch. We'll show you what we do to bitches.

_He flinched under the weight of his own thoughts, and M noticed._

_'Not yet,' M conceded. 'But we will, in time. You can save yourself some trouble and tell us what we want to know.'_

_Harrison fidgeted. 'What's in it for me?'_

_M paused only briefly before reaching into her expensive suit jacket. She pulled out a thin, brown leather case, one that was as familiar to Harrison as the back of his own hand. He closed his eyes slowly, and when he opened them M had laid the case out, opened it to show the row of needles._

_'It's fascinating, how many intelligent men and women fall prey to this type of thing,' M said, gesturing at the needles._

_'So, what, this is a morality lesson?' Harrison demanded. He was practically bouncing in his seat, the last of his self-control being tested. His right leg was going wild beneath the table, and his fingers were curled into fists, no doubt bruising the soft skin of his palm. 'Or, I tell you what you want to know, and you let me shoot up?'_

_'No,' M said and rolled the case back up. Maybe she sensed that Harrison could barely focus when his drug of choice was right there, just waiting to be mixed and inserted into his bruised skin. She tucked the case away and Harrison relaxed slightly. 'Tell us what we want to know and you won't spend the rest of your life in a maximum security prison.'_

_'Doesn't sound too bad,' Harrison shrugged. 'I'd be in solitary confinement, right? Face as pretty as mine, I'd be able to convince anyone to do what I wanted. Can't let me too close to a keycard, I'm slippery like that. Could probably steal one and execute a perfect break out.'_

_'You've done it before,' M noted._

_'Have I?' Harrison countered._

_'We know that you spent some time in juvenile detention,' M stated. 'We know where, but your files disappeared; both the hard copies and the digital ones.'_

_'I'm good like that,' Harrison grunted. He squeezed his eyes shut and started tapping the table again. He'd been in here for, what, two days? Three? The longest he'd been sober since he'd started using was four and a half days. Harrison had been using more since then, though. He needed a bigger dose._

_'Tell us what we want to know and you'll have a future,' M said. 'You're only nineteen. A few years on probation and you'll have your life back.'_

_'My life?' Harrison laughed._

_'A better life,' M said._

_'Right,' Harrison snorted. He wasn't an idiot. His probation, if he took this deal, would never end. Oh, M might_ say  _that it had ended, but it wouldn't. He'd be constantly scrutinised, his work good_ for a criminal _. He'd never be one of them, because Harrison had already shown that he didn't care about the safety of Britain. He wasn't MI6, not like the tech sitting at his side was. He was his own man, a criminal, a hacker who did whatever he could for cash and his next fix._

_He looked up at M to see her staring at him, waiting, face giving nothing away._ Spies _, Harrison thought with an eye roll. They were all the same, and that's what made them so_ easy  _to beat. Once you knew their rules, and what they were capable of, it was child's play._

_But... what choice did Harrison have? Either way he'd be forced to get clean, it wasn't like M would hire a drug addict, or supply him in his little cell. Working for MI6, even chained to them, meant that he'd have access to computers, to their network. Harrison was patient. It had taken him twelve months to hack his way out of juvenile hall. If it took him two years, five,_ ten _, he'd escape from MI6. He wouldn't stay here, be used by them, be constantly sneered at because of the life choices he'd made._

_He wasn't one of them._

_'Harrison Jaret Brennan,' he finally said._

_M looked sharply at the tech, and the young woman started typing like mad, eyes glued to the screen._

_'You won't find anything about me,' Harrison told them. The tech paused and looked at M, eyes wide. 'I have digital copies of everything relating to my birth and activities since I was six-years-old in my car.'_

_'And where's your car?' M asked._

_Harrison bit his lip before relaying the co-ordinates, and M nodded at the agent standing by the door. He left immediately, the door closing with a soft_ click _._

_'Tell me about yourself,' M ordered._

_'My parents, Lucy and Raymond Brennan, died when I was six,' Harrison rattled off, like he was reading from a script. His eyes were dull, trained on the one-way glass. 'Car crash,' he added as an after thought. 'I went into the foster care system. My intelligence wasn't appreciated by the kids I housed with, or by the foster parents. I ran when I was ten.'_

_He paused, and M said an annoyed, '_ And _?'_

_'I learned computers,' Harrison shrugged, 'from a few kids I met on the streets. Stole a few when I could, pawned them when I started using. I found that I could steal money from corporate bank accounts if I was careful. I did that for years, but I got bored.'_

_'Bored,' M echoed. She frowned, eyes hard when Harrison met them. 'Why did you hack into MI6?' she demanded. 'We never would have known you existed if you hadn't.'_

_Harrison gave her a sharp smile, one that reminded M that she was dealing with a highly sophisticated, highly intelligent,_ extremely  _dangerous young man._

_'I was bored,' he stated-_

\- Q gasped as he woke, sitting up straight and almost braining himself on his lamp. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, then shook his head, trying to dispel the remnants of his dream. No, _memory_. He hadn't dreamt about his first conversation with M in over a year.

Q frowned and turned to his computer, the screen awakening as soon as he started typing. He easily pulled up the footage of Bond's cell, bypassing all the measures that security had implemented since Bond had been locked away. They wouldn't realise Q was hacking them if he didn't want them to.

Bond was sitting where Q had left him, as though he hadn't moved. But there was now a tray just before his door, half a sandwich and a container of what looked like jelly or something still sitting on the paper plate. Q's frown deepened as he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the junk on his table.

Bond had done this; had brought up things that Q didn't want to remember, not while he was still in MI6's clutches. He didn't want to ever remember the homeless junkie he'd once been. Q had never been ashamed of the illegal hacking he'd done, and never would be. But to remember that he'd been hooked on something so dangerous, something that screwed with his mind, his ability to _think_ , was something best forgotten; pushed into the dark recesses of Q's mind where memories of his foster homes resided, never to see the light of day.

Q sighed, rolled his neck, and cracked his fingers and knuckles. Bond's mobile phone sat innocently off to the left, the screen covered in fingerprints, the case scratched from where Q had slammed it against his table. Bond's password had been correct, and Q had gleefully studied the virus before sending it off to the techs who worked under him. He'd been riding a high similar to the one that heroin used to ignite within him, practically drunk on the new numbers and letters now at his finger tips.

He glanced at his computer one last time before exiting the security feed, and wiping any trace that he'd been there away. He quickly hacked into Moneypenny's computer, pulling up M's schedule. She, Tanner and Moneypenny were all absent, attending a gala of some sort.

Good. Q typed for a few more minutes before standing. He left Bond's mobile where it was and exited his office, the door sliding closed with a hiss behind him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was far too easy to get into the basement, Q thought. He just hoped that M didn't question the guards personally. He slipped inside and the door shut behind him, the guards going back to their seated positions. Q nodded at them shortly before moving further into the room, not stopping until he was standing before Bond's cell.

Bond appeared to be asleep, so Q just watched him for a bit, eyes roaming over the man's strong features and the prison uniform they'd put him in.

'Hello again.'

Q didn't jolt, just raised an eyebrow until Bond opened his eyes. The blonde offered him a small smile.

'Good evening, 007,' Q replied.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' Bond asked. He sat up, stretched a bit, before leaning back against the wall. His legs were spread out over the narrow bunk, toes moving from side to side, as though Bond was bored. Q wouldn't be surprised if he was. 'Q?' Bond prompted.

The problem was that Q didn't have an answer. He didn't know _why_ he was there. He should have been across the building, in his office, going over the beautiful codes that he'd unlocked in Bond's phone. Instead he was here, staring at a rogue agent, arms folded and hip jutting out ever so slightly.

'Q?' Bond questioned again.

'I don't know,' Q admitted.

'Don't know what?'

Q looked around the room. 'Why I'm here.'

'I see,' Bond hummed. 'Does M know that you're here?'

'No,' Q chuckled lightly. 'I was only given permission to ask you about the password on your phone, not anything else. M doesn't trust me that far.'

'And why not?' Bond asked.

Q smiled and went to sit. But instead of choosing the table, he sat on the floor, back to the wall and one leg pressed to the glass wall of Bond's cell. When he glanced up Bond was looking at him, eyebrows up in surprise. But the man was quick to go with it, standing and joining Q in the only way he could; sitting parallel to him, on the other side of the glass.

'So you don't know why you're here,' Bond said, 'and _I_ don't know why you're here. What are we going to do with our time?'

'Talk, I suppose,' Q said. He really had no plan, which was a bit unnerving, he could admit to himself. He _always_ had a plan, even if it was a bad one. Now? He was flying blind, so to speak.

Thankfully, it seemed that Bond had a topic to discuss. 'Tell me, Q,' he said, making the younger man glance at him, 'would you break me out of here if I asked?'

Q snorted. 'Why would I answer that?'

'Because I'm assuming that you've put your fancy hacking skills to good use and made us... invisible, to the cameras.'

'Not invisible,' Q corrected. 'They can see us, they just don't know what we're talking about. Bursts of static, muffled voices, etcetera.'

'Then why won't you answer the question?' Q didn't say a word, and Bond smiled. He went back to staring at the wall of his cell, fingers picking at his grey trousers. 'Your answer, Q, would depend on what kind of person you are.' Q raised an eyebrow. 'And there's always three types of people.'

'Are there?' Q asked. 'And what, pray tell, are those types?'

'The first,' Bond stated, 'is the good, patriotic Quartermaster. If you were really who you projected to be, you'd answer no. And no amount of begging, or offers, on my part would change your mind. Because I'm a dangerous criminal, a terrorist and defector by MI6's standards. There's no way in hell you'd let me out.'

Q smiled and glanced down at his own lap, fingers tapping rhythmically against each other.

'The second type of person would be the criminal,' Bond said. 'The one who would ask, “What's in it for me?” You'd name a price, I'd agree, and you'd help me escape.'

Q nodded; he could see Bond's train of thought there. With criminals there was always a price; a certain amount of money that they'd do anything for. He wondered how much breaking an ex-double-oh out of prison was fetching these days.

'The third?' he asked when Bond didn't continue.

'The third,' Bond echoed, 'is a mixture between the two.'

Q laughed. 'The patriotic criminal?'

'If you wish to phrase it that way,' Bond nodded. 'That person would break me out if it benefited him in some way. He has no personal connection to MI6. He doesn't hate it like a terrorist would, like someone with a personal... _beef_ , with the organisation. No, he doesn't care about it either way. It isn't an enemy, but it isn't something to be protected by him, either. He has his own, personal price. All I'd have to do is find it, offer it, and he'd break me out.'

'What kind of price would he have?' Q asked, intrigued to see what Bond would say.

'It differs from person to person,' Bond told the younger man. 'Your price?' He glanced at Q, and Q met his gaze, hazel on blue. 'Your price is freedom,' Bond stated, 'and perhaps something else.'

Q quirked an eyebrow as he asked, 'What makes you so sure that I'm the third person?'

'When I asked if you'd break me out, you said, “Why would I answer that?” The good Quartermaster would immediately answer no, as I said. The criminal would be silent, calculating, wondering what amount of money he could get out of me. You did neither of those things. You deflected, let me give a long-winded explanation. Which tells me that you _do_ have a personal price, but I haven't guessed it correctly yet.'

Q laughed again and slid back, slouching against the wall, eyes roaming the room again. The security guards were still there, occasionally eyeing Q, but mostly just whiling away the hours of their shifts in their own heads. Q and Bond were speaking too lowly for the guards to overhear their conversation.

'Well?' Bond asked.

'You were right,' Q said, smiling. 'You haven't guessed correctly yet.'

Bond chuckled softly and Q heard him shifting, moving into a different position.

'How are the beds in there?' Q questioned, suddenly curious.

'Why?'

'I'm wondering if they've changed since my stay,' Q admitted.

He heard a short intake of breath, and was satisfied; he'd surprised the double-oh. Bond's view of him clearly didn't include “held in MI6 custody for crimes against the Crown”.

'Uncomfortable, but not unbearable,' Bond said after a brief minute of silence.

'Hmm,' Q hummed.

'Why were you held?' Bond asked. 'That doesn't fit in with the good Quartermaster.'

'But it _does_ fit in with the criminal and the in-between man,' Q replied.

'True,' Bond said, a smile in his voice. 'But M wouldn't hire a criminal.'

'Wouldn't she?'

'Not one who hated Britain with a passion,' Bond said. 'You forget that I worked with her for years. She was the one who recruited me.'

'She recruited me, too,' Q said.

'When?' Bond asked. 'When I defected the Quartermaster was an old bloke.'

'Geoffrey Boothroyd,' Q said, remembering the man well. He'd been the one who'd sat beside Q when he was finally given a computer again after his detainment. Boothroyd had been an expert in his field; in old-school gadgets. But computers? The stuff that now led the world, and made destruction a few simple key strokes? Boothroyd had been so far behind, he was practically a dinosaur. A ten-year-old could have hacked a computer quicker than Boothroyd could. It was why Q had been brought in, after all, instead of locked up and hidden, forgotten. 'He died,' Q said after a pause, 'a few weeks after you defected.'

'How?' Bond asked.

'A direct attack on MI6 by an agent similar to you,' Q said. 'He was a terrorist, his target MI6 herself.'

'What happened to him?' Bond asked.

'I tracked him and MI6 put him down,' Q said.

'Is that what got you promoted?' Bond asked, and Q laughed loudly.

'God, no,' he shook his head. 'No, M didn't trust me back then. She doesn't now, but back then? I was more than rough around the edges. I was only promoted two years ago.'

'No one else up for the job?'

Q turned to face him and found Bond's eyes already on him. 'Plenty of people capable,' he said, 'but not as capable as me.'

'You must be something special,' Bond said with amusement.

'You have _no_ idea,' Q breathed. He watched Bond's eyes darken, and his tongue peek out to wet his chapped lips briefly. So Q hadn't been wrong; Bond _was_ attracted to him, at least a little. It made Q's heart skip a beat, but he didn't look into it. Too much was at stake here for Q to throw it away for a passing fling. He didn't even know what he truly wanted, not yet. But a plan was already forming, Q's brain working on it in the background. Q couldn't stop himself if he tried.

'You continue to surprise me, Quartermaster,' Bond stated.

Q smiled and leaned his forehead against the glass, once more shocking Bond. Q didn't doubt that people rarely got close to the double-oh when they knew exactly who, and what, he was. But Q had never had a good sense of self-preservation. He wouldn't have been caught by MI6 if he did.

'Harrison,' he murmured.

'Excuse me?' Bond replied.

'My name is Harrison,' Q said, voice still soft.

'Harrison,' Bond rolled the name over his tongue, and Q bit back a shiver at the soft tone, the way his real name fell from Bond's lips. 'It's nice to meet you, Harrison.'

Q laughed. 'Are you trying to be cute?'

'Is it working?'

Smiling, Q said, 'I'll let you know.'

'Look at me,' Bond suddenly ordered. Q did, and the man repeated, ' _Harrison_.'

Q blinked at him.

'You don't respond to that name anymore,' Bond stated, 'how long's it been?'

'Years, now,' Q admitted. 'Far too many years. I was never particularly attached to the name, though.'

'It's still your name,' Bond said.

'The name of a boy long dead,' Q replied.

'So who's sitting before me, if not Harrison?' Bond questioned.

Q shrugged one shoulder. 'Q, I suppose,' he said. 'I am what M made me, and she made me the Quartermaster.'

'A mistake on her part, I think,' Bond said, 'but her mistake is my gain.'

'Is it?'

Bond just smirked, an expression somehow more charming and dangerous than any other smile he'd given Q. Q looked away, breathed out heavily.

'You're leaving,' Bond said; a fact, not a question.

'I shouldn't push my luck,' Q said instead of agreeing. He did stand, though, but Bond made no move to do the same.

'You'll be back,' Bond said with conviction.

'Will I?' Q asked in amusement. He glanced down at the blonde, who was still smirking at him.

'Trust me,' Bond said, 'and next time you'll even have M's permission.'

Bond didn't say anything more after that, but Q didn't need any more words. He didn't know what he'd come down here for, but he felt like he'd gotten it, whatever it was. His head felt clearer than it had in years, but filled with so much new information at the same time. It made little sense, Q knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would no doubt start dissecting his thoughts, his feelings, as soon as he was out of Bond's presence, back in the safety of his office.

Bond was odd, different, _fascinating_ , such a bright difference the the dull, grey-washed existence that Q had been living in since he'd first been caught. It was like playing with fire; thrilling, but dangerous.

Again, Q couldn't bring himself to care. It was a liberating feeling.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

_**One day earlier** _

  


Q spun his stylus between his fingers, and pondered briefly if he had the temperament to go have a cigarette. It would calm him down, but he really didn't want to stand or leave his office. The next person to speak to him would get his stylus jammed into their eye, and that was a fast ticket to being confined to MI6 for a month or more.

Q sighed and tapped the table rapidly as he re-read the information that he'd already memorised;

  


_**Name:** BOND, James _

_**D.O.B:** March 2, 1976 (age 38), Scotland, United Kingdom _

_**Hair:** Dark blonde _

_**Eyes:** Blue _

_**Distinguishing Features:** None _

_**Department:** 00-Programme _

_**Designation:** 007 _

_**Current Status:** Defected _

_**Notes:** Highly skilled marksman; highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat; highly skilled in “thinking outside the box”, having proven on numerous occasions that his actions are hard to predict; former Navy commander; loss of both parents at age eight had severe psychological effects; habits indicate a dependence on alcohol and the need to be active; defected in 2010 with fellow 00 agent Alec Trevelyan (006) and rumoured to still be travelling together; full medical record attached. _

  


Q's fingers started up another staccato rhythm across the desks-top, but Q barely paid attention. His eyes were focused on the screen before him, and he was determinedly ignoring James Bond's mobile phone, which was once again sitting at his side.

The code was a work of art, it truly was; the type of virus that Q himself would write if M would allow it. But the second code? Oh, Q just _knew_ that it would be that much better, that much cleaner and _perfect_. He truly wished that he could meet whoever had written it; it was genius.

Q scowled as he reached for the mobile, turning it over in his fingers. He'd been so _happy_ , and now _this_! Bond was a bastard, he really was. He'd known, when Q had visited the previous night, that the younger man had yet to find the second programme; the one that protected only two files on the phone marked i5 and i6.

Q wasn't sure if the files contained information on MI5 and MI6, or if that's just what Bond wanted them to think. He honestly didn't care if the files contained the blueprints to destroy both organisations, or cake recipes. He just cared about the _codes_.

James fucking Bond, with his pretty eyes and kissable lips and sexy goddamn body. He was effecting Q more than anyone ever had. Q had learned how to cut himself off from people, from the world at large, when he was ten and realised that the other kids, the _adults_ , would never see him as one of them. He would always be an outsider, so he acted like one. He didn't make friends. He stole and looked down on people. He kept to himself and did whatever the fuck he wanted for _himself_ , because nobody else would ever care, and nobody else would ever help.

And James Bond just came in, shattering Q's shields and making him hunger for information, for company, for... _something_.

Q slammed his fist against his desk, and then again and again until his hand and arm throbbed painfully, until he was breathing hard and his glasses were askew. 'Fucking 007,' he muttered. He then sighed and stood. Q didn't believe in no-win scenarios, and he wasn't about to start now, not even when faced with a charming rogue agent who seemed to be able to crawl under Q's skin with ease. 'I'm better than that,' Q murmured.

He picked up the mobile once more before sending a quick email to Moneypenny. He knew that M was in her office, and if she said no- if she refused- Q would meet with Bond anyway. He _needed_ to study the new programme.

  


{oOo}

  


Bond looked far too amused when Q sat on the table, mirroring his position from when they'd first spoken.

'Morning,' Bond said.

Q's eyes narrowed. Bond knew it was morning, _how_? Either he had a very good internal clock, or he knew how MI6 security worked in regards to prisoners. Only two meals were brought, one in the morning and one in the evening. But both meals were identical, how could Bond know exactly what was what?

'It's polite to return a greeting,' Bond said.

'Good morning,' Q near spat-out, and Bond raised an eyebrow. Q closed his eyes briefly, drew a breath and strength.

'It seems that I'm making you uncomfortable today,' Bond mused. 'Or... annoyed? Anxious? Horny?'

Q's eyes snapped open on the last word, and Bond offered a charming grin in response to Q's scowl.

'No?' Bond hummed. 'My mistake.'

'The code, Mr Bond,' Q said.

'I already gave it to you,' Bond replied.

'The code for files i5 and i6,' Q added.

'Ah,' Bond nodded, ' _that_ virus. Quite handy, isn't it? The hacker I got the phone from was rather intriguing.' He stood and walked towards Q, and then slid to sit in the corner, leaning half against the wall, half against the glass cutting the two men off from each other. He lowered his voice when he said, 'He's dead now. No need to wonder if that code will be used against MI6.'

Q was silent, pondering that. He wondered if Bond had killed the man himself after he'd got what he needed. Or if the hacker had met his end by another's hands. Hackers generally lived short lives, especially if they operated on the other side of the law.

'Unless you don't care about that,' Bond continued, voice still low.

Q raised an eyebrow. 'What makes you say that?'

'You're not like them,' Bond stated, like it was a fact that he knew to be true.

'Like who?'

'The rest of the techs who work here,' Bond said. 'I've met a few since you came to see me.'

Q frowned slightly. M had sent other technicians to speak with Bond? Why? What else had they taken from the agent that Q didn't know about? Or, in other words, what had they taken from Bond that M deemed too dangerous to give to Q?

'They believe in Queen and Country,' Bond said when Q failed to speak. 'Some of them have families, sure, and friends. But they're still here because they want to protect their country. Every agent is here for the same base reason. It's the same reason that I agreed to be an agent, the same reason Alec did, too.'

Alec Trevelyan, 006, the other agent who had defected with Bond, Q recalled. He hadn't been caught, and so far Bond hadn't given up the man's whereabouts. It was no doubt pissing M off.

'You,' Bond said after a slight pause, blue eyes seemingly darker than yesterday, 'you _aren't_ MI6.' Q glanced up at him, face giving nothing away, not this time. How could Bond know with that much certainty? Nobody knew Q's origins until M told them, or someone else leaked the information, which they always did when new recruits tried to get friendly with Q. And while most people knew, everybody thought that Q was reformed; that he now believed in what he did, and wanted to _protect_ Britain. M was the only one who still watched him like a hawk, like that at any minute Q would go rogue and disappear, leaving devastation in his wake.

And yet here Bond was, having met Q a grand total of two times for roughly twenty minutes, and he _knew_.

When Q looked back at Bond, the older man was smirking. 'You're the patriotic criminal,' Bond stated.

'How did you get away from MI6?' Q asked, changing the subject.

Bond raised his eyebrows. 'And why, dear Quartermaster, would you want to know that?'

' _How_?' Q demanded. Something inside him had snapped, his eyes now fierce, lips pressed thin. 'I know how you've _stayed away_ , that isn't too difficult to accomplish. But how did you get far enough away to implement your plan?'

Bond looked far too amused for such a serious conversation. 'Need tips, Q?'

'Tell me!' Q shouted and stood. He slammed his fists against the plexiglass, the phone in his hand cracking, making his hand throb.

'You hate it here,' Bond said, now wearing a grin. He slowly stood to face Q, the extra inch in height he had on the younger man giving him added power. 'You want out. They've still got you on a leash and they always will. Tell me who you are, Q, and I'll tell you what you want to know.'

The red pad on the cell door started flashing, and the lights dimmed. Q swore.

'Tell me,' Bond echoed Q, but without the vehemence.

'I was a hacker,' Q stated quickly, 'they caught me. M offered me a deal; work for MI6, or go to prison.'

Bond grinned. 'And you don't want to work for MI6.'

'I never did,' Q said. 'But I can't get away cleanly enough to disappear.'

He was constantly monitored, an entire team of agents devoted to watching his every move. Inside MI6 it was security; outside it was a team armed with tranquillisers and tasers. They would subdue Q, but not kill him. MI6 needed him too badly; _M_ needed him too badly.

It meant that Q didn't have enough time to escape- he couldn't slip M's tight hold on him. He wasn't really sure what he'd do _if_ he managed to escape; hop a train to France? He'd need a fake passport, a clothing change and make over. But he had no idea how to go about getting everything he'd need for a new life while the entirety of MI6 hunted him.

Bond knew. Bond could help.

The door at the end of the room opened before Q or Bond could exchange another word, and four security guards stormed in, each marching toward Q.

Bond smiled softly. '999-open bracket-UVV2-minus-6.'

Q's arm was grabbed, another security guard pushing him away. 'There won't be a next time,' he said.

Bond inclined his head. 'Goodbye, Q.'

'007,' Q responded. And then he was dragged from the room, Bond's eyes on him the entire time.

  


{oOo}

  


Q was banned from interacting with the prisoner, and had been confined to MI6 for six weeks. Q wasn't surprised, and glared at M when she marched from his office, taking the security guards with her. Q had told Bond the truth about himself, about whey he was really at MI6. He'd expressed, on camera, that he didn't want to be there, that he wanted to escape. Q was only surprised that his privileges hadn't been revoked.

He still had access to all the programmes he'd had before his conversation with the former 007, and his security clearance still stood. That was M's mistake.

She didn't trust Q, and rightfully so. But she was old school, like Bond was. And that worked in the field, but not in this situation; not with someone of Q's background. M had grown complacent, she thought that Q couldn't escape like he'd told Bond.

But something had changed, something that M hadn't taken into account. Q now had access to 007, a man who _had_ escaped MI6 successfully. And he'd do it again, if Q had anything to say about it.

He had to work quickly, in case M or someone else realised what he was planning. Q locked himself in his office, cutting off even R's override. Only M herself and Tanner could get in now, but Q didn't think that they'd be visiting. Tanner had never liked Q; had stated on repeated occasions, _loudly_ , that Q couldn't be trusted as the Quartermaster. M should have listened to him.

Q smirked to himself and sat at his desk. He cracked his fingers before hunching over the computer, typing rapidly, pulling up programme after programme before dismissing them when he was done. He had a lot to do, and only a few short hours to do it in.

  


{oOo}

  


Q was fascinating. James didn't usually think that about... well, anyone. He'd met intelligent people; men and women excellent at their chosen profession, no matter what it was. But he'd never met anyone who truly _fascinated_ him like the young Quartermaster did. Q had all the brains and skills one would expect in the head of Q-Branch, all wrapped up in a gorgeous, young package. Despite his good looks, it was his eyes that James liked the most. One minute they were frustrated, the next intrigued, and then _furious_. Those eyes hid depths that James had only begun to skim. An entire world, dark and dangerous, locked away in the young man's mind.

James wondered how old Q was; how old when he'd been picked up by MI6, and how old he was now. How many years had he been M's lapdog, forced to work for an organisation that had captured him, contained him? James didn't doubt that Q loved his work, but it was the restrictions that stunted Q's growth, that made him itch for something more. It was one of the many reasons James himself had finally defected. You were only useful to MI6 when you played by their rules. When you didn't, they didn't want to know about it. When you didn't they threw you to the wolves, and pretended that they'd never known just how far you were willing to go for Queen and Country.

_Good old Queen and Country_ , James mused. M had used those words time and time again during his interrogations. As though they'd spark some form of patriotism in James and convince him to come back and give up Alec. James had long ago given up any love he had for MI6. He still loved England, and when he could he stopped would-be-terrorists from blowing up the country he'd spent most of his life in. But MI6? No, James didn't care for it in the slightest, not any more.

James wondered what Alec was doing. He should have realised by now that James had been caught, or killed, and put his feelers out. He might already know that James was in MI6's custody. He and James both had an extensive list of contacts in every country, England being no different. They had accumulated more since they'd gone rogue, and more than one had information on MI6.

James was under no illusions that Alec would stage a rescue mission. MI6 was too difficult to get into. If Alec _did_ try and rescue James, it would be when he was moved. MI6 couldn't keep him forever, and James knew that a top-security prison was his next stop. He'd either escape from there, or Alec would come.

The former double-oh's thoughts once again drifted to Q. Sweet, adorable Q. What was he like under that hideous cardigan and those plaid trousers? Did he prefer men or women? Did he even have _time_ for casual sex when MI6 was constantly breathing down his neck? Q wasn't the type to take a regular lover, nor have a steady relationship. His life was too dangerous, himself too different, to connect with someone for that long. He and James had that in common.

Which was why James found it odd that he wanted to learn more about the Quartermaster. And not just Q's exact history, which would definitely be a rich one, but what his quirks were, his personality, his habits. He wanted to know _everything_. James had never denied himself anything, not if he wanted it badly enough. And he wanted Q. It just remained to be seen what Q wanted.

The lights overhead suddenly dimmed, and James glanced up. They never went off, not even when James assumed that it was nightfall. They were always harsh, unchanging, there to remind James of where he was, _what_ he was. M couldn't afford to leave James in the dark, not even for a moment. She'd seen what had happened the first time.

The lights flickered again before going out completely, and James sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. He remained sitting, feet cold where they rested on the concrete floor, and waited in silence.

Suddenly everything was harshly bright once more, and James blinked rapidly to clear his sight. He turned swiftly when he heard a grunt, then another, followed by the sounds of two bodies hitting the floor. Eyebrows climbing, James stood and walked over to the glass wall that cut him off from the rest of the room.

He couldn't see the door from where he was, his cell was too far away, so he waited. He didn't have to for long; someone crept into view, moving light on their feet, and James' eyebrows shot right up in surprise.

Q was wearing the same clothes that he'd been in when James had last seen him, only his hair was messier, and there was a heavy black coat over his skinny frame. He had a large side bag thrown over one shoulder, a computer tablet under one arm, and a few electronics in the other.

Q grinned brightly when he saw James and shuffled about in one pocket, then the other, before withdrawing a plain white card with a thin black magnetic strip on one side. He crouched down to assemble _something_ \- a black box that he attached to his tablet, a string of wires- and then swiped the white keycard through a small slot in the box.

When he stood again, Q put his things away.

'What are you doing?' James asked.

'Watch,' Q said. James did, and narrowed his eyes when Q swiped the keypad attached to the door of James' cell. The lights flashed green, and with a soft _beep_ the door swung open.

'How?' James demanded.

'I have access to everything even remotely digital in this building,' Q informed him. 'It was easy to hack into security and find out the various codes they were using for your cell. I also looped the security feed, and took the liberty of arranging an exit for us.'

James was silent. Q raised an eyebrow.

'Well?' the younger man queried.

'What do you get out of this?' James asked.

'You take me with you,' Q stated. 'Drop me anywhere you want; Germany, France, _wherever_. Just help me get away from MI6. It's the least you could do, right?'

James chuckled. 'Of course,' he said. He stepped out of the cell, stretching, finally feeling free after three days of containment. 'Shall we?' he asked, and gestured at the door.

Q nodded and pulled his bag from his shoulders. James walked over to the door and Q trailed after him, hands and head buried in his bag.

'What are you doing?' James asked.

'Looking for- _ah_ , there it is!' And with that Q drew a handgun, a Sig Sauer 9mm P320. 'I know you prefer the Walther PPK, but I had a time limit,' Q said as he handed the gun to James. 'Also,' he hummed before drawing six magazines from his bag of tricks.

James raised his eyebrows, but accepted the magazines. Thankfully his prison garb had pockets, and he deposited three magazines in each before checking that the handgun had a full one. He drew the slide back, heard the satisfying click of a bullet being chambered, and stepped closer to the door.

'The guards beyond here?' he questioned when Q joined him.

'Unconscious due to a new tear gas Q-Branch may or may not be designing,' Q said.

James chuckled.

'It's all I could do,' Q added. 'I know where we need to go, and I have a car for us. It's up to you to get us to the garage and then away from here.'

'Is the garage still in the same place?' James asked, a mental layout of MI6 popping into his head.

'Yes,' Q nodded. 'The door's protected by a keycard and passcode, but I can hack both in five seconds.'

James laughed to himself, but didn't say anything. Q had left the door open just a crack, and James peered through. The hallway was empty, dimly lit, and James noted a soft haze hanging in the air.

'It's safe to breathe,' Q said, 'the gas' effects disappear rather quickly.'

'Good,' James said. With that he pushed the door open and slid through, Q on his heels.


	5. Chapter 5

James kept his gun up as he walked, blue eyes flicking from left to right over and over again. He didn't look up at the cameras as he and Q passed through the first security check, then the second- or first, if you were coming in, James supposed.

The large metal and plastic door was hanging open, the two guards usually occupying the area slumped on the floor, as unconscious as the other two James and Q had passed. Q had done a good job, and James mentally gave him a pat on the back as they continued forward.

The hallway was long, seemingly never ending, and twisted to the left slightly. There was an elevator about halfway down but Q pushed James forward when the ex-agent stopped, and he also ignored the hallways that branched off to the left. Finally the lights began to grow softer, not trying to blind the occupants, and Q slowed.

'The garage used to be here,' James said, gesturing to the wall.

'It was re-designed two years ago,' Q replied. 'They added another basement room for Q-Branch that's on the same floor as the lower level of the garage.'

'What for?' James asked.

'I like playing with cars,' Q told him, and James smiled.

They continued forward for two and a half minutes before they finally came across a large metal door. The floor and walls had changed to a dark, stormy grey, and the ceiling overhead was metal, wires and other odds and ends running above their heads.

'That's Q-Branch,' Q said, pointing down the hallway. It was too long for James to see anything, but he believed the hacker.

'It used to be upstairs,' James said. 'I remember when we moved into this building; it occupied three levels on the west side.'

'I moved it,' Q said. He was reaching into his bag now, pulling out the same computer/box project that he'd used to get James out of his cell. He fed the card into the bulky keypad that sat on the garage door, but left it in, and started tapping quickly at the screen of his tablet.

'Why?' James asked.

'I like being underground,' Q murmured, eyes not leaving the screen. 'Plus I hated sharing R&D with the other departments. Q-Branch now has its own, as well as its own gun range that we use to test the weapons we've fiddled with. If something explodes down here, the walls, floors and ceilings are all reinforced, so no harm-'

He was cut off when the concrete above his head exploded, showering both men in dust. James grabbed Q's arm as another bullet whizzed overhead, but the younger man moved towards the door.

'Q!'

'I need the card!' Q snapped back. James growled and turned, firing off a few shots down the hallway. The three security guards who'd snuck up on them ducked back into another corridor, the one that led to a few storage rooms, Q had said.

'Where the hell did they came from?' James demanded, firing again. He hit the walls, the floors, but no guards until one was stupid enough to duck out of hiding. James hit him in the shoulder and he was flung back, slamming into the floor and rolling into view, blood seeping across his dark blue uniform. James shot twice more to keep the other guards back.

'Another elevator usually only used for maintenance and deliveries,' Q replied. He was stuffing his equipment back into his bag, head ducked and legs bent. At least the boy had _some_ sense about him, James thought. 'They must have found the loop or M had me watched more closely than I assumed.'

One of the guards opened fire, covering another who rolled into the hallway, crouched with his gun raised steadily. James grabbed Q again, and this time the younger man let himself be dragged further down the corridor towards Q-Branch, James shooting to cover them. His clip ran dry just as the two disappeared down the slightly curved hallway, and almost immediately Q took off running, James trailing after him and re-loading his weapon.

'Why don't you have a gun?' he demanded.

'I don't like them,' Q sniffed.

'Can you even shoot?'

'Who do you think tests the weapons all double-ohs are sent into the field with?' Q demanded.

James had to laugh. Their escape had blown up rather quickly; it was a typical James Bond escape, in all honesty. His first defection from MI6 hadn't been without bloodshed, either.

'Where to now?' James asked. Q had slowed down and was slightly ahead of James, eyes narrowed as he checked each tunnel they passed, while James kept an eye on their rear.

'We have to get into the garage through another entrance,' Q said.

'Which will now be watched, seeing as how they knew where we were going,' James pointed out.

'Obviously,' Q drawled, 'but I know a route we can use.'

'Where?'

'Through Q-Branch,' Q said, 'come on.'

James picked up his pace, and Q did, too, the younger man easily keeping just ahead of the former double-oh as he led the way. The hallway continued to get lighter, walls and lights all signalling that they were entering a new area of the underground section. James had to wonder just how far Q-Branch extended; how much of it had Q changed since James had left?

'Are you sure we should head to Q-Branch?' James asked.

'It's my domain, so to speak,' Q replied, only slightly out of breath. He clearly wasn't used to regular physical exercise. 'I can hack anything in the department, and I know the entire place inside out, better than anyone else working in this building. Security will have a difficult time chasing us in the sewers.'

James almost tripped over his own feet. 'Sewers?' he demanded.

Q threw him a smirk. 'Not literally, 007, but it's what I call them.'

He gave no more information, and James didn't ask. He was curious, he could admit; it was James' job to get them out of MI6, but Q seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it himself.

The corridor finally widened, opened up into a larger hall that soon ended in a small, entrance-like room. There was a set of steel doors to their right- elevator, James assumed- a set of white double doors directly ahead of them, and a large, sliding steel door to their left, a small plaque that read “Q-Branch” set into the concrete to its left.

The keypad beneath the plaque was glowing red, but Q typed something in without the use of his little black box. The keypad beeped red, and then once more, before it finally glowed green and allowed Q access.

The Q-Branch technicians had all been herded into one corner, and there were two security guards waiting for them. James and Q were both quick to act, the younger man ducking beneath a dart that would have rendered him unconscious in seconds, and James forced into hand-to-hand combat when his first shot went wide, his attacker too close.

James couldn't afford to give Q any of his attention, and clenched his teeth as he wrenched the guard's arm up and back, snapping the bone and making him howl. He let the man go before grabbing his hair and slamming his knee into his head, breaking his nose and knocking the man out.

James dropped him and turned, ready to continue fighting, only to find that Q had somehow gotten the tranquilliser gun out of the guard's hands and turned it on the bigger man. The guard was on the floor, already unconscious, and Q was grinning, out of breath.

_Beautiful_ , James thought, but quickly pushed it from his mind.  _Not the time_ .

'You won't get away with this!' a woman shouted rather shrilly, drawing James and Q's attention.

Q laughed darkly, and James fought back a shiver at the sound. Q really  _was_ full of surprises.

'I think you'll find that I already have,' Q answered. 'Step aside, R.'

The woman- R- shook her head and stepped closer to the narrow steel door that had been built into the far end of the room. To her right were the rest of Q's former underlings, all huddled together and watching the scene with fearful eyes. James ignored them all in favour of glancing around the room. Q-Branch hadn't had this many toys when James had been an agent.

'Step aside, R, or I  _will_ shoot you,' Q ordered.

'No,' the woman shook her head again.

'I can have Bond shoot you,' Q offered, glancing at the agent.

James didn't particularly  _like_ killing, but he did it all the time. It wasn't like he'd feel bad if he shot this woman; he needed to escape, and she was standing in his way. A casualty of war.

Before R could decide- or James could shoot her- Q smiled and said, 'Actually, I think  _I_ will .' He raised the tranquilliser gun and fired once. The dart hit the woman in the neck and she took a step back, eyes wide and hand groping at the projectile. Q's smile turned into a smirk as he watched her stumble again, eyes fluttering, before she finally fell to the floor.

'Nice shot,' James commented.

'Thank you,' Q grinned. He glanced at the other techs. 'Anyone else feel like playing hero?' There were no responses. 'Good, you're all a bit smarter than I thought you were.'

'Did you always plan to escape?' one of the young men asked, staring at Q with neither anger or delight. He was just... curious, James thought.

'Yes,' Q answered. 'I'm a criminal, remember? Too set in my ways to ever really be MI6.' Q shifted his messenger bag higher up his shoulders and glanced at James. 'Come along, 007.'

His orders amused James, but he saw no reason not to obey them, so followed Q across the large, cold room. The techs made absolutely no move to stop them, or to alert anyone to their presence. James knew that as soon as he and Q stepped out of the room they would, but there wasn't anything he could do (unless he assassinated all of Q-Branch, that is).

James watched as Q entered yet more codes into another keypad, and wondered what M was thinking, giving such access to a man like the Quartermaster. He didn't doubt that Q could pick mechanical locks, too, but it would have made their escape a bit trickier. Making everything electronic was like  _begging_ Q to put his skills to good use and escape. The old woman really had lost her skills, James thought.

'After you,' Q said when the door had swung open, revealing an almost pitch-black little room. James' eyes soon found the narrow stairs leading down, and he looked at Q, raised an eyebrow, before entering. He took the steps carefully, not wanting to fall and break his neck, and heard Q follow after him. He'd soon closed the door and the two were thrown into darkness, forcing James to pause and let his eyes adjust. Q said nothing.

His eyes adjusted quickly, and James found that the stairs disappeared down below into the darkness. He took them slowly, each foot carefully placed on the next cold, hard step. Eventually he hit solid ground that was dank and dirty, grit cold and wet beneath his bare feet.

'Lovely,' James drawled when the distinct smell of mud and decay reached his nose; the “sewers”, as Q liked to call it, really did smell the part, and was clearly abandoned, possibly only kept open as an escape route for Q-Branch.

'I spent my first year mapping out this entire area,' Q said from behind James. James turned and both their faces lit up when Q unlocked his tablet. He briefly showed James a map lit in blacks and blues, various lines labelled. 'Every night after work- when M and her little minions left me alone- I'd come down here and explore.'

'Where's this all go, then?' James asked, glancing around.

'Everywhere,' Q replied. 'The entire block has tunnels like this beneath it. Some are caved in, but there are numerous escape routes.'

'Why don't we use one of them instead of the garage?' James asked.

'I would have if I'd known that M would find out about our escape so quickly,' Q said. 'Now I'll make her _think_ that that's what we're doing while we actually head back to the garage.'

James just blinked at him, and Q sighed before pushing past the older man, leading the way down the narrow tunnel.

'Some of these tunnels are monitored by MI6,' Q explained as they walked. 'They were all searched and set up with sensors while the building was being furnished for MI6's uses. However, as I'm sure you're aware of by now, there isn't anything electronic that I can't hack. I know what to do to keep us invisible down here, _or_ make security think that we've gone a certain way. So while MI6 chases us further into London, we go to the garage.'

'Hmm,' James hummed, 'clever.'

'I've been known to be,' Q drawled, making the blonde chuckled.

They fell into silence, apart from the wet slap of James' feet, and the muffled footsteps of Q's shoes. There were also occasional beeps from Q's tablet, the boy glancing down at the screen, and then up, doing whatever it was he did to keep them from getting caught. Q stopped every now and then to consult his map or hack into a new programme, and though James was getting bored, he remained silent and let the boy work.

Soon the tunnels grew narrower, darker, dull lights no longer embedded in the walls every few feet. Q used the light from his tablet to lead the way and James stuck close, not wanting to lose the hacker down here. He'd end up lost or caught.

Suddenly Q stopped again and frowned at his tablet.

'What?' James asked.

'M's in the building and she's taking no chances,' Q muttered.

'What?' James repeated.

'I'm monitoring communications,' Q explained and showed James his tablet. The large screen was overflowing with letters and numbers that James couldn't even begin to comprehend, but he did see a small box in the bottom right corner, text constantly flowing across it. His eyes spotted a few security codes and call signs that he was familiar with, and he realised that Q was having everything sent to his tablet in text-format.

_Clever, clever boy,_ James mused, but didn't voice it aloud. Instead, he asked, 'So what now?'

'M's having the garage watched, but there are two entrances that she doesn't know about. One of the tunnels down here leads into an old storage room that runs alongside the garage's air-conditioning. The other leads into a maintenance room... well, there's some crawling and climbing involved, but you should fit.'

He gave James a once over that was more critical than lustful, and James let a small pout overtake his face. He wasn't looking his best at the moment, he could admit, but that didn't mean that Q was allowed to just  _ignore_ his appeal.

Q rolled his eyes and set off again, taking a right quickly and forcing James to jog to catch up. They fell into silence once more, and James hummed various songs in his head to pass the time while keeping his eyes and ears open.

'Here,' Q said suddenly and stopped, almost causing James to crash into him. He was gesturing at what appeared to be a crack in the rough stone wall, but on closer inspection had once been a very narrow, very roughly cut door-frame.

'Here?' James echoed.

'Mm,' Q nodded. 'Another few feet and we can climb.

'Climb,' James sighed.

'Why are you repeating me?'

'It's fun,' James replied.

Q rolled his eyes once more and tucked his tablet into a pocket. They immediately fell into darkness, but James' eyes were quick to adjust, and he watched as Q scrambled his way through the hole in the wall. James had a more difficult time, being both taller and bulkier than Q, but with a little squirming- and some tugging on Q's part- he managed to slip through.

The room was little bigger than a closet, with a rotting wooden table pressed up against the wall closest to them. A short set of rusted stairs led to a hatch in the ceiling, and James followed Q up them, the boy once again using his tablet as a torch.

They stumbled into yet another room, and Q pushed them through a slightly larger doorway before he took a right, the hallway so narrow that it brushed both of James' shoulders. James wondered just who the hell had built these tunnels- and for what purpose- when Q stopped again.

'You've got muscles, 007,' Q hummed as he tapped away at his tablet.

'And?' James asked.

'Get cracking,' Q said and gestured at the stone wall beside them.

James blinked. Frowned. 'What?'

Q sighed and looked up at him, one index finger reaching up to slide his glasses back up his nose. 'This wall runs parallel to one in the garage's darker depths. It's worn stone, and the wall opposite is wood. We should be able to break through.'

'Okay,' James mused, 'and what am I  _using_ to break through these walls? Your tablet?'

Q gave him an absolutely foul look before tugging on his messenger bag. He reached in and shuffled about, muttering about useless double-ohs the entire time. James was more amused than offended, and watched curiously as Q pulled a  _crow bar_ from his bag.

'And where did you get that?' James asked.

'Wouldn't you like to know,' Q retorted.

James chuckled and tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers before taking the crow bar. He made sure to touch Q's fingers as he did, and the boy scowled at him, but it was too dark to see if he blushed. Q took a few steps back, the glow of his tablet only just enough to light James' way, and James got to work.

'So-' he grunted after his first few swings, the stone crumbling and cracking beneath his blows, '- just what the hell... did you think... we'd need a crow bar... for?'

'Something like this,' Q replied. 'I like being prepared.'

'And why is one... of the garage walls... wood?' James asked as he swung again and again.

'Private parking for the department heads,' Q told him. 'Nice wooden walls, personal parking bays, and personal car washes if you're so inclined.'

'You  _must_ be joking,' James laughed.

'Why  _must_ I be?' Q asked.

'It just.... seems over the top... even for MI6,' James replied. There was a large crack, followed by part of the wall giving way. James had to jump back to avoid getting his feet crushed, and Q stepped over the rubble to inspect the hole.

'A little more, 007,' he said.

James smirked. 'You like ordering me around.'

'It's my job.'

'Not anymore,' James hummed.

'True,' Q agreed.

The two men went silent as James picked up his pace, slamming the crow bar into the wall over and over again, using the curved end to tug loosened stone from the wall. Dust soon filled the enclosed space, and Q and James both coughed and waved their hands about to try and clear the air, but it was no good. James just decided to go faster, and soon was cracking through wood rather than stone.

'That's it, 007!' Q near-shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked like an over-excited child, but once again James kept that thought to himself. He didn't want Q deciding that he was better off alone and abandoning James here. James wasn't sure he could get past security by himself.

Q helped James remove the last of the stone and wood, creating a hole barely big enough for Q to squeeze through, let alone James. The boy somehow managed to bend himself through, and James nearly fell over his own feet at the images suddenly spearing through his brain.

_Not the time, Bond!_ he told himself and followed Q through. Like last time there was a lot of shoving and squirming and swearing, and James ripped open his shirt and skin in numerous places. He got through, though, and that was all that mattered.

'Where now?' James panted as he stood tall. He was covered in dust and dirt, debris sticking to his sweaty skin and making him feel gritty and in desperate need of a shower. It wasn't anything that James wasn't used to, though, and Q seemed to find it entertaining.

'Through here,' Q said and James followed along like a good little soldier, gun back out and cocked.

Q easily bypassed the security of the private parking area and was soon leading James through the garage proper. It was just how James remembered it; large and grey, pillars painted different colours to designate different areas. There were cars all around them but Q didn't seem inclined to pick one. James knew all about the security measures in cars these days, and didn't doubt that MI6 would be able to track them if James decided to steal some random car. Q obviously had a plan, if his near-march and serious expression were anything to go by.

They'd just hurried up one of the ramps to an upper level when a siren suddenly went off, near deafening them and causing Q to stumble, a hand clapped over one ear.

'Q!' James shouted.

'Most of them are following my red herring!' Q replied over the ear-shattering noise. 'Either they've changed a few of the security measures in case I hacked them, or M's just being cautious. Either way, they don't know exactly where we are, but they'll be locking down the garage completely! Hurry!'

James didn't need to be told twice, and he easily matched Q's pace as the hacker led them up, and then down past cars of all shapes and designs, each one practically screaming at James to break into. There were red lights flashing blindingly around almost every corner, and James gritted his teeth against the sound of the alarm. He'd definitely be leaving with a headache.

'Here!' Q suddenly shouted, coming to a stop beside a car.

The blonde glanced at it. 'Really?' he demanded.

'You have a problem with BMWs?' Q asked.

' _Yes_ ,' James grunted. Aston Martin, now _they_ made good cars. James had one in England, one in France, and one in America. But a BMW?

He sighed and looked over the car. He supposed that it wasn't _too_ awful, but it was still _really_ bad. It was a BMW i8 painted black with blue highlights. The doors were dihedral, and the bloody thing ran on _electricity_. It wasn't a car, it was a toy.

Okay, so it was really, _really_ bad.

'I really didn't have time to pick a car that would suit you,' Q finally snapped. 'I was supposed to assign this to 003 two hours ago, but I sent him in a different one. When MI6 come after us, they might think that we have 003's car, so they'll follow _him_. He's driving to France, which is where they think _we'll_ be going. So we have long enough to get out, ditch the car, and disappear.'

James sighed but held a hand out, and Q tossed him the keys. James opened the doors, which slid up, and was about to climb into the car when a shot rang out, quickly followed by Q shouting in pain.

James' head snapped up just in time to see Q clutching at his chest, blood seeping from beneath a tear in the thick black fabric. He gasped, face pale, and glanced at James before sliding against the car and out of sight.

'Q?' James shouted. More shots rang out and James opened fire himself, gun up and pointed in the direction of the gunshots. He heard a scream, followed by a thump, and then the return fire stopped. 'Q!' James shouted again, but there was no answer. James hurried around the car, images of a dead Q, eyes wide and glassy, searing through his mind.

Q was slumped against the car, head bowed and hand clutched at his shoulder. He wasn't moving, and fear like James hadn't felt in _years_ grasped his heart. James dropped to his knees.

'Q!'


	6. Chapter 6

'God fucking damn it!' Q shouted, head snapping up and eyes pinched with pain.

Okay, so Q was fine. James let out a heavy breath of relief as Q sat up against the car, shoulder shaking and teeth gritted in pain. 'Okay there?' James asked. If his voice came out shakier than intended, well, nobody needed to know. Q certainly hadn't noticed, his eyes completely focused on his wound.

'Oh, I'm just _peachy_ , 007!' Q snapped.

James chuckled and brushed his fingers through the younger man's hair, making Q scowl at him. 'Just checking,' James smirked.

A burst of gunfire cut off their conversation, and James and Q both ducked as bullets whizzed overhead, a few slamming into the concrete floor and sending yet more dust up to cover the two. One bullet hit the car near Q's head, and James grabbed Q by the good shoulder, using his jacket to drag the boy aside as he sent a few rounds of fire back.

Q hissed in pain, but didn't complain as James used the car parked beside theirs as cover, only popping up to return fire.

'Don't know where we are, huh?' James asked between rounds of gunfire.

'Haha, very funny,' Q grunted. 'You're not the one who's suffering, now are you?'

Q inspected his wound while James continued his fire fight, not speaking until James had ducked down to re-load.

'It was a through and through,' the young man said. 'I'll need stitches, but I should recover.'

'You need to stop the bleeding,' James replied.

' _Duh_ ,' Q huffed. He was already reaching into his messenger bag with his good arm, blood-soaked fingers sliding over electronics and everything else Q had brought until they tugged out a roll of bandages.

'You really are prepared for anything,' James laughed.

'See if I share my bandages when _you_ get shot,' Q grumbled.

'Only two security guards left,' James said as one of his bullets tore into a man's skull, tossing him back and into the car he'd jumped over to try and surprise the double-oh.

'Very good, 007,' Q drawled. James smirked. 'Run along now and do what you do best,' Q added, and even made _shooing_ motions with his good hand. 'I'll be fine.'

'Are you sure?' James asked. He knew that he had to kill or incapacitate the guards before they called for backup, or before backup arrived. He and Q needed to _leave_.

But a very large part of him, a part he thought dead when he'd first become a double-oh, was screaming at him to stay by Q's side. He'd known the boy for _three days_ and yet he wanted to throw all his training aside to _protect him_.

James wasn't used to caring about anyone other than Alec.

'James!'

The ex-agent's head snapped up. Q was staring at him, hazel eyes narrowed and pained.

'James,' he said again, calmly this time, 'you are going to sneak around these cars, do your super secret spy moves, and kill or knock those guards out. You are then going to come back here, get into the car, and drive us out of here. I'll take care of everything else. Do you understand?'

Orders. James was good with orders. Alec made the orders when James got so far into his own head that he fucked up.

'Yeah,' James said and cleared his throat, 'take care of your arm.'

'Yes, sir!' Q quipped. James managed a short chuckle before he ducked around the back of the car, smiling when the gunfire continued to be trained on Q.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was stupidly easy to sneak up behind both men and end their lives. Well, one of them might have survived; James really hadn't hit him that hard. He didn't stop to check, though, instead vaulting over a car and rushing back to Q. Q was sitting in the passenger seat, his arm roughly bandaged and his bloody fingers tapping away at another tablet.

'Get in the car, 007,' Q ordered, and James did as he was told. Q had his seatbelt on but James ignored his, instead turning the engine on. It was soft, it barely revved, and James felt his eye twitching. 'Next time I'll get you a bloody Ferrari!' Q snapped. 'Can we go?'

'Next time _I_ pick the car,' James grunted. Q didn't seem to notice that they both said “next time”; as in, both of them figured that there _would_ be a next time. For now James ignored it; he'd rather focus on escaping at the moment.

James pulled out of the parking spot and followed Q's directions once more, the two soon slamming through the barrier that had been coming down and out of the parking garage. James tisked as he swerved onto the road, around a car and then a bus, and took off down the street. Either M was seriously losing her touch or MI6 had just fallen into despair since James' defection.

James drove like a maniac and Q stabbed at his tablet, the rogue agent glancing at the younger man every so often. When Q finally raised an eyebrow, though didn't look up from his work, James asked, 'How old were you when they caught you?'

' _What_?' Q said. 'Is this really the time?'

'We might die,' James pointed out.

Q cursed. 'Nineteen,' he finally answered.

'How many years have you been in inmate of good old MI6?' James asked next.

'Four years,' Q said. 'I was caught a few weeks after you defected.'

James paused, head tilted, and Q finally looked at him. 'You're only twenty-three?' he demanded.

Q sighed and said, 'Did you ever think that it might not be _wise_ to antagonise the man helping you escape a top-secret facility?' he demanded.

James chuckled. Q was like a kitten; adorable and fuzzy, but vicious when provoked. He didn't think that Q would appreciate that comparison, so kept it to himself.

Rolling his eyes, Q looked back at his tablet. 'I deactivated the GPS in this car, as well as my own, when I left my office, and set up a fake signal. I wasn't sure it would work, but it did.'

'You had a GPS?' James asked, glancing at the hacker.

Q nodded. 'Inserted in my arm when I agreed to work for MI6.'

James hummed but remained quiet. Q glanced out his window, watching the city pass as James led them into a less-populated neighbourhood. He didn't speak, not even when James stopped the car, turned it off, and pointed his gun at him.

He just raised an eyebrow.

'Why should I trust you?' James asked.

'Why would I break you out of MI6 just to send you back?' Q countered.

'Alec,' was all James said. He wouldn't put it past M to put this whole thing together just to grab Alec, too.

Q sighed and suddenly deflated. He sat back against the door, eyes on James rather than the gun. 'I don't think there's anything I can do to convince you otherwise,' he stated. 'I already deactivated my GPS, I just need a sharp knife or a scalpel to remove it. If you don't trust me, fine, I don't blame you. Either kill me or let me out.'

'You're not afraid of dying?' James asked.

'My life ended when I was six years old,' Q shrugged. 'Then it was foster homes, the streets, drugs, and finally MI6. I really don't have anything to live for.'

'Self-preservation?' James suggested.

Q snorted. 'You're one to talk.'

James was silent, Q too, both men staring at each other. Only Q was still slumped, apparently leaving his life in the hands of a former double-oh. James stared at him.

Finally he flicked the safety back on his gun and slipped it away. Q sighed softly.

And then shouted when James launched himself forward and kissed him.

Well, it was more a sloppy press of lips than a kiss, James mused, seeing as how Q pushed him back almost immediately.

'What the hell was that?' Q demanded.

James gave him a cheeky grin. 'You wanted a kiss.'

Eyes narrowed, Q said, 'I will murder you in your sleep.'

James chuckled and started the car again. 'I look forward to it,' he said.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Tanner and Moneypenny both watched- the first detached, the second fidgeting- as the entirety of MI6 threw themselves into one single goal; find and neutralise the Quartermaster. M had been needed at a meeting, but had postponed it due to Q's behaviour in the cells, and the things he'd said to James Bond. Like Tanner, M had known that if Q _did_ have something planned, he'd be putting it into action soon.

Q's presence at MI6 had been a constant source of annoyance to Tanner. He prided himself on knowing everybody who worked at MI6, from the agents to the secretarial staff, rather well, even if it was only via paperwork. But Q was a hard person to read; brilliant, certainly, with a thirst for knowledge and a habit of overworking himself to the point of exhaustion. But Tanner had never been able to tell if what they were doing, how they treated the young man, would change him.

Tanner had been working at MI6 for a good while before Q had made himself known to the intelligence agency. First as a hacker seemingly unable to be caught, then as a detoxing teenager who screamed and hurled abuse. Later it was as a shaken young man who picked up the pieces of himself, carefully tucking them back into their appropriate places. He'd thrown himself into his work, the work M granted him access to, with a fervour that would be commendable in anyone else, but was worrisome in a criminal hacker turned Q-Branch technician.

When it came down to it, Tanner had never trusted Q. The boy had spent almost his entire life on the other side of the law, first to protect himself, and then to fund his drug habit. He'd shown little care for those he passed in life, even less for the good work that MI6 was trying to do. He'd hacked the agency _because he was bored_. Not because he'd wanted to test his skills, or even because somebody had paid him to. It had all come down to boredom.

Somebody who hacked government agencies _for fun_ was dangerous, and Tanner had been rather loud when M had revealed her plans to bring Q into MI6. She'd been so sure, so adamant, that he'd change; that MI6 could mould him into the Quartermaster that they so desperately needed. And Q _had_ been brilliant, all of his work since being promoted flawless and without equal.

But he'd still been Harrison Brennan, the drug addict who'd spent three years hacking into MI6 without a trace _just because he could_. Tanner had seen the fire in his eyes every time they'd met, had seen how Q hated MI6 with a passion born from imprisonment. MI6- _M_ \- had used Q, pushed him, and now Q was pushing back.

Bond was a problem on his own, but coupled with Q it was clear that they were a force to be reckoned with. Bond had already killed a few of their agents, had wounded almost a dozen others, and he and Q had disappeared into the tunnels beneath MI6 without a trace. The technicians of Q-Branch were torn between following a trail that was leading further away beneath the roads of London, and following a car that had been signed out of MI6 only an hour or so previously.

M had ordered all entrances and exists into MI6 to be blocked, but Tanner knew it was no good. If they didn't physically catch Q and Bond soon, there would be no trace left to follow. Q and Bond were too good at what they did, had only been caught before due to lapses in judgement and things outside their control. If Q and Bond escaped now, they'd never be found again, not in person; there would be whispers amongst government and criminal organisations, a rumour or two here and there, but they'd never be seen again, not if they didn't want to be.

Tanner stood quietly, watched as technicians raced back and forth, keyboards clacking and swears being offered up instead of information. M was in the thick of it, hungry for blood, and Moneypenny was watching with sad eyes as her former friend was hunted like the criminal he was.

Tanner had known, had always _known_ , that Q would escape. It had just been a matter of timing. Bond had been the chance he'd needed, and now, Tanner knew, there was little the agency could do to stop the two.

It just remained to be seen how much blood Q and Bond would spill. And if any of it would be their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait! I got kidnapped by other fandoms. Or my muse just decided to jump ship, either one. I hope you liked the chapter and the next one should be along soon.
> 
> Also, it'd probably be a LOT harder to break out of MI6 but I couldn't be bothered trying to think of anything more death-defying or clever. Fanfiction, man! It is what it is.
> 
> {Dreamer}


	7. Chapter 7

Q had no idea how long they drove for, but by the time Bond stopped the car he was pretty sure that they weren't in London anymore. His arm was throbbing but physical pain was something Q had gotten used to years ago. Living on the streets wasn't exactly good for one's health, and no injury would ever compare to detoxing three separate times. Despite what M had believed when MI6 had caught Q, a young Harrison Brennan had tried to get clean before. It had just... never stuck.

Q felt groggy when Bond helped him from the car and his bag was too heavy. He vaguely heard a woman ask if he was okay and Bond responding with, 'He gets car sick; it's the medication.' Q hummed a bit but otherwise didn't say a word, and before he knew it Bond was taking his bag off and ripping at the sleeve of his cardigan.

'What are you doin'?' Q grumbled.

'I'm going to clean, stitch, and re-bandage your wound,' Bond told him gently. 'Do you want anything?'

'Got any pain killers?' Q asked.

'Yes,' Bond said, and then he disappeared and came back with actual pills.

'Huh,' Q said and blinked rapidly. He shook his head, too, ignoring the flash of pain in his arm, the light pulse of pain in the back of his head. Fuck, how long had it been since he slept? He couldn't remember sleeping all that much since Bond had been captured. 'Where'd you get these?' Q asked. He sounded more alert, even to his own ears.

'I stopped briefly to pick up some things,' Bond told him. 'You were too out of it to notice.'

'Mm,' Q hummed and dry-swallowed the pills. 'I haven't slept in a while.'

'I gathered,' Bond replied, sounding amused. 'You pretty much just passed out after I put my gun away.'

'What can I say?' Q drawled. 'I like guns.' Bond snorted but didn't say anything, and Q glanced down to see that the older man had mangled his cardigan, revealing the torn flesh beneath. Blood was still oozing from the wound and Q's skin was spotted with deep dark bruises, flapping skin, and exposed muscle. Q tilted his head and said, 'Is it bad?'

'No,' Bond shook his head, 'believe me, I've had much worse. Your arm will ache for a few weeks but you'll only need stitches. And you'll scar.'

'Eh,' Q shrugged his good shoulder. 'I've had worse,' he said, echoing the agent. When Bond looked up at him, blonde eyebrows raised, Q reached down and tugged at the sleeve of his cardigan. It ripped completely with a few good pulls and Q showed Bond his inner-elbow. It was pockmarked with scars, ranging from small, round bumps to long, thin cuts. Q could feel Bond's eyes on him and said, 'Some of my track-marks scarred from repeated use. I was also in the habit of scratching at my skin when I needed a fix, and later when I got clean. I kept picking at the scabs and they eventually scarred.'

'I see,' Bond said, and Q sighed out a breath of relief. He was so very, very tired of people turning their noses up at him over his past drug habit. Or, God forbid, _pitying_ him. Q was clean now; heroin no longer had a hold over his life. As long as he stayed away from it, he wouldn't fall off the wagon. 'I'm gonna give you a few more pain killers,' Bond said, breaking the silence that had fallen. 'I'll stitch you up now and then you can rest, okay?'

'Okay,' Q agreed easily. His earlier adrenalin had clearly worn off, and now he was just _tired_. He wanted to eat and sleep and possibly snuggle with a former double-oh agent. Q could get handsy when he was tired, but he usually didn't have anyone to actually get handsy _with_. He hoped that 007 was up for the challenge.

Q zoned in and out over the next... however long, he really had no idea. Bond could have traipsed back to MI6 and broken out again and Q wouldn't have noticed. He was exhausted and his arm flared every so often in pain. Bond was quick but methodical, very skilled at sewing ripped flesh back together. He cleaned the wound out, pushed medical thread through Q's skin with steady, precise fingers, and bandaged Q's arm when he was done. He also helped Q change, and there was nothing sexual about it. Well,Q was awake enough to see that Bond was checking him out, but he didn't try anything, which fit with the profile that MI6 had on him; Bond was a Lothario, but he respected people's boundaries.

Unless he was surprise-kissing them in cars, of course.

'You're an arsehole,' Q grunted as Bond tucked him in.

'Am I?' Bond asked in amusement. 'I just stitched you up, Q, I thought I'd at least get a thank you.'

'You kiss-attacked me,' Q grumbled. He tried to snuggle into his pillow but his arm hurt. It made him whine, and he heard Bond laugh.

'I wanted to kiss you,' Bond said. 'I'm sorry if it upset you.'

'Didn' upset me,' Q yawned, 'I woulda kissed back but my arm hurt.'

'Is that so?' Bond said.

'Mm,' Q hummed.

He heard another chuckle, and then Bond brushed his strong fingers through the younger man's hair. 'Sleep, Q,' he said, voice soft. 'We'll discuss a future kiss when you wake up.'

Q was already asleep.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


When Q finally woke it was with a clear head and a red face because _oh God_. He'd told James Bond that he wanted to kiss him. He'd considered _snuggling_ with a hired gun. He'd... he didn't want to think about it.

Bond was in the room eating some type of takeout, Q wasn't sure what it was. He didn't really care. He just shuffled across the- very nice- hotel room, plopped onto the seat opposite him, and stole a container.

'Good afternoon,' Bond said after a beat.

'Mmf,' Q mumbled through a mouthful of... Thai?

Bond smirked and ate another mouthful, chewing slowly as he watched Q stuff his face. 'Are you feeling better?' he asked after a few minutes.

Q nodded, chewing quickly, and when he swallowed he said, 'My arm hurts, but that's to be expected. How long was I out for?'

'19 hours, give or take,' Bond said. 'Does that happen often?'

'Sometimes I forget to sleep,' Q said, shrugging his good shoulder. 'I pass out for a while and then I do it all over again.'

'I see,' Bond mused.

' _I_ see that MI6 hasn't busted down our door yet,' Q commented. 'Where are we?'

Bond took another bite of food before answering. 'Wales.'

'Wales?'

'Wales.'

'Stop that,' Q snapped.

Bond smirked.

'Mr Bond, pray tell, _why_ are we in Wales?' Q asked, making the older man chuckle.

'I'm glad to see that you're still a cheeky little shit, even outside of MI6,' he said before sobering. 'We're in Wales because it's one of mine and Alec's safe houses. Well, I say safe house, I mean safe city, but you get the idea. We're in Cardiff and hopefully by now Alec will be hearing about my escape. He should be joining us in a few days.'

'And if he doesn't?' Q asked.

'We stay here a week and move on,' Bond said. 'We'll go back to London, because MI6 won't expect it. If Alec still hasn't joined us we move to Scotland. After that, we fly to Singapore.'

'Singapore?' Q questioned. His heart had picked up already, and Q really, _really_ hoped that they weren't actually going to Singapore. Of course, he wasn't an idiot; he knew that they couldn't stay in the country. But maybe they could... get a boat? Or drive to France? That sounded better. Q would gladly spend _days_ on a goddamn _train_ than fly anywhere.

'Alec and I had business in Singapore; we were just stopping over in London,' Bond explained. 'After that we were flying to Greece and then later France.'

'Where's your base of operations?' Q asked. 'Because MI6 has an actual pool going. Well, the double-ohs have a pool going. The world's secret agencies don't know where you two live.'

Bond looked thoroughly amused by the idea of MI6 betting on him and his friend, and he smiled down at his noodle as he said, 'We have three bases of operations; Paris, Athens, and Baltimore.'

Q frowned. 'Baltimore?' Bond nodded. 'Baltimore as in... the American State of Maryland, Baltimore?' Bond nodded. 'Okay,' Q muttered, 'I did _not_ see that coming.'

'We move around a lot,' Bond told him, 'but there are three proper houses we own; all under aliases, of course. But Alec and I don't work 24/7. We take breaks every now and then. It helps that the gun-for-hire business pays so well.'

'Yeah,' Q hummed, and then popped a piece of chicken into his mouth. He wondered where he'd be in a few weeks' time. He'd agreed to get Bond out of MI6, and Bond had agreed to get _him_ out of the country. If they were going to Singapore, well... Q didn't want to live in Singapore. Greece sounded nice, although Q couldn't speak Greek. He _could_ speak French and was decent at Spanish and Italian, so maybe France or Italy? 'Can you take me to France?' he asked out-loud.

Bond looked at him. 'You want to go to France?'

'I speak French.'

'Okay...'

'I'm a hacker, Bond, and I _really_ don't want to set up shop in Singapore,' Q said.

Bond nodded slowly. 'Of course,' he said before tilting his head, thinking. 'I tell you what,' he said and cleared his throat. He put his food down on the small table between them and linked his fingers together, eyes on Q. 'Stay with me until I meet up with Alec. Then, come with us to Singapore. We have one small job to take care of before we fly to Greece, and then France. After that... you can leave, if you want.'

Q swallowed thickly and looked away. He didn't... he didn't really _want_ to leave. He liked Bond. The man was vain and arrogant and a bit of an arsehole, but then again, so was Q. Bond was also gorgeous and charming and fun. He made Q feel _alive._ Q hadn't felt alive since he was nineteen.

But... if they went their separate ways, so be it. They would probably meet again; hackers were always needed, and chances were that, eventually, Bond and Alec would need a hacker they could trust. Plus there was always the possibility that Q would get himself into trouble and need a man with access to a lot of guns.

It wouldn't be goodbye, just... until next time.

'Okay,' Q finally said, 'sounds good.'

Bond nodded, though he didn't seem satisfied. Q didn't pry; he just went back to eating and left Bond to do the same, the silence that fell around them comfortable. Q had never done well in silence; he liked music and the background noise of typing, the muted sounds of a computer doing what it did.

But this... Q could get used to this.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The first day after their escape from MI6 was pretty... boring. Not that Q didn't like that; his life hadn't been _boring_ since he was six-years-old. He'd taken a nap after he and Bond ate, and when he got up again he set up his various tablets and computers- and cleaned them because more than half were covered in blood- and then set to work on making sure that he and Bond stayed free.

MI6 were practically foaming at the mouth. Q hacked his way into various government servers and communications and found that Her Majesty's finest were concentrating their search on London, the surrounding areas, and all airports, both commercial and military, in the country. They'd also sent various agents into Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, but as long as Q and Bond didn't leave the hotel in broad daylight, nobody would find them.

Still, Q made sure to open up his backdoors into MI6's servers so that his programmes could keep an eye on things. If MI6 even caught scent of where Q and Bond were, Q would be notified. Q really wasn't worried.

Bond seemed happy to work out, eat, drink, and go over the various files that Q had stolen before breaking the rogue agent out of MI6's custody. The files weren't anything too interesting; at least Q didn't think so. They were mostly details on MI6's current training programmes, what missions they were focusing on in various countries, and, of course, complete itineraries on MI6's various safe houses, bank accounts, and everything else they were up to.

Q had figured that it could only help; Bond had been out of MI6's loop for years. The more he and Alec knew, the easier the two would find to remain out of MI6's custody. Or Interpol's. Or the FBI's. There were a _lot_ of agencies after the two.

They didn't talk much. When they did Q talked about Mi6 and Bond about his past freelance missions. Q didn't mention his personal past and neither did Bond. Still, both let certain things slip; Q about the things he'd done to fill his stomach when he was living on the streets, and Bond the many boarding schools and loves he'd found and lost before he'd joined the agency. Just tiny pieces of information that, when added together, helped the two understand each other better.

Q didn't know what the fuck he was doing, if he was completely honest with himself. He'd gone into this thing hoping to be free of MI6. Now he was bunking with a rogue agent and, _God_ , starting to _like him._ Maybe more than like... just possibly... he was _really_ pretty... fuck it, Q wanted to kiss Bond again.

He didn't mentioned it. Barely even _thought_ it. Bond still smirked every now and then, usually just after Q had lost himself staring at Bond's arse, or his ridiculously toned shoulders... Q always scowled and turned back to his tablets.

Bond was an arsehole.

Who Q wanted to fuck, but that was neither here nor there.

Really.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'What's your favourite colour?' Bond asked.

Q looked up from the code he was writing. 'Excuse me?'

'What's your favourite colour?' the older man repeated.

Q raised an eyebrow but Bond just stared at him from across the table, clearly waiting for an answer. Sighing, Q pushed his glasses back up and said, 'Purple.'

'Purple?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I don't have to explain my choices to you, 007.'

Bond smiled slightly and glanced back down at the document he was reading. 'Fair enough,' he said.

There was a beat of silence before Q caved in; ' _Fine_ ,' he drawled. 'James, would you care to tell me _your_ favourite colour?'

Chuckling, Bond said, 'Green.'

'Why green?'

'Really, Q?'

Q shrugged.

Looking amused rather than annoyed, Bond said, 'Your eyes are green.'

'Excuse me?' Q demanded.

'Your eyes,' Bond said slowly, like Q was hard of hearing, 'are green. I've decided that it's my new favourite colour.'

'My eyes aren't green,' Q stated.

'Yes they are,' Bond said.

'No, they're not.'

'What are they, then?'

'Hazel,' Q said.

'Hazel?' Bond echoed. Q nodded. 'Hazel is applied to an eye colour that's made up of two or more colours,' Bond said. 'So what colours make up your _hazel eyes_ , dear Quartermaster?'

Q scowled, fidgeted, but eventually grunted, 'Green and brown.'

Bond, the arsehole, _laughed at him_.

'Shut up, 007, or I'll take you back to MI6.'

'But then who would bring you food and clothing and let you stare at them when they do push-ups?' Bond drawled. Q just glared. 'Fine, fine,' Bond laughed. 'I'm sorry, Q; please forgive me. Your eyes aren't green, they're a stunning shade of green-brown.'

'Are you trying to be charming?' Q demanded.

'Is it working?' Bond, of course, shot back. Most of their weird... flirting, Q supposed it was, consisted of snarky comments, sharp barbs, and bad innuendos. Also staring. Lots of staring. James Bond had a magnificent body and Q felt that it was his duty as a proud gay man to appreciate said body.

'In your dreams, Bond,' Q drawled and went back to his algorithm.

'Oh, Q, you feature in my dreams quite frequently,' Bond said.

Q ignored him.

'Sometimes you even wear clothes,' Bond continued. 'But not for long. You let me paint your body in chocolate and I lick it all off you. Then, when you're nice and hard, I suck your-'

'BOND!' Q shouted and the older man grinned broadly at him. 'You are a terrible, terrible human being, and I hope you get shot,' Q muttered.

'Sweet Q, don't lie to me,' Bond crooned.

'I should never have let you out of that cage,' Q huffed.

'Your world would be infinitely darker without me in it,' Bond quipped.

Q shook his head but he couldn't bite back the smile. Bond was right, after all.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They didn't end up staying in Wales for a week; MI6 traced the car Q and Bond had stolen to a street just outside of Cardiff, and both Bond and Q agreed that it'd be safer to move on. So they packed up their stuff and drove back to London. Bond booked them into another decent hotel room; it was nothing lavish, but it wasn't some hole-in-the-wall, either. It only had one bed and Bond and Q had to share, much to Q's torn disgust and joy. Bond, of course, smirked like the infuriatingly charming bastard that he was. Q tried to forgo sleep in favour of setting up his computers once more, but he still hadn't caught up on all the sleep he needed and ended up passing out. When he woke up it was to find himself the little spoon in bed, James Bond wrapped around him like some bloody octopus.

Q didn't hate it nearly as much as he claimed he did.

Their back and forth continued. Bond flirted with Q, leered at him, and generally made it very well known that he would like Q to ride him into the mattress. Q flirted most of the time, stared at Bond when Bond wasn't looking (and sometimes when he _was_ looking, but Bond knew that Q was attracted to him so it didn't really matter), and generally pretended that there was no sexual tension between him and the double-oh.

Q had a bad history, relationship-wise. Well, he'd never truly had a relationship. He'd slept with men for food, a warm bed, and money. He'd slept with men because he was high and thought it was a good idea at the time. He'd slept with men just because. He'd never slept with anyone that he liked.

And he liked James Bond. He really, really did.

So, for now, Q was going to pretend that he didn't want to fuck James Bond nice and hard, multiple times, in every position imaginable. Which was a good thing, really, because when Alec Trevelyan finally stormed into their lives, he caught Q and Bond going over various documents rather than fucking like rabbits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** This is kind of a filler chapter... I dunno, I just wanted to write some fluff and try and move the whole Q/James thing along without a lot of violence happening.
> 
> The next chapter is, finally, taking us back to where we started; Alec finding James and the souvenir he brought back from MI6.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {Dreamer}


	8. Chapter 8

  
  


_**Now** _

  
  


Q and Bond were still in London when Alec Trevelyan finally popped out of the woodwork. They were sitting on the large bed reading over the documents Q had nicked from MI6, arguing over what to have for lunch.

'I really don't want Chinese again,' Q said.

'You told me you like Chinese,' Bond replied. 'In fact, I _distinctly_ remember saying, “Q, what's your favourite food?” And you said, “I don't know, I mostly eat takeout.” And I said, “Well, what's your favourite takeout?” And _you_ said-'

'“I usually order Chinese or pizza,”' Q interrupted with a scowl. He ignored Bond's amused little smile and said, 'Yes, Bond, I get it.'

'So why not Chinese?' Bond asked and slid one paper aside, grabbing the next. They were considering hacking one of the numerous bank accounts MI6 had, perhaps taking a large sum of cash from Management or Q-Branch, maybe even Medical. Q hated Medical, and Bond hadn't been too keen on them, either.

'Because all we've had since we escaped MI6 is Chinese,' Q said.

'So?'

' _So_ ,' Q growled, 'please pick something else! _Anything_ else! I'm sick of rice!'

Bond tilted his head, blue eyes gleaming, and before he could suggest something no doubt _sexual_ , the hotel room door burst open.

Q jolted away from the ex-agent- who barely moved a muscle- and turned to see Alec Trevelyan, formerly 006, standing in the doorway, three large black bags over his shoulders.

'Oh _really_ , James, _really_?' Trevelyan practically shouted.

Bond looked away from Q to meet Trevelyan's gaze and Q shuffled the papers in his hands, suddenly feeling... nervous. He didn't know Trevelyan; the guy could be crazy for all he knew. Though Q had downloaded both Bond and Trevelyan's personnel files before he'd broken Bond out of his cell, so he at least knew that Trevelyan hadn't been psychotic when he'd worked for MI6.

He could have become psychotic _since_ then. He was friends with James Bond, after all, there had to be _something_ wrong with his brain.

'Did you _have_ to pick someone up when escaping MI6?' Trevelyan's voice brought Q out of his thoughts and he tuned back into the conversation.

Bond raised an eyebrow. 'And what if he was just some guy I picked up, and you went and spilled all our secrets?'

Q scowled; he could do _way_ better than Bond, thank you very much. Okay, so Bond was gorgeous, but he was a smug bastard; Q usually liked being the most cocky person in the relationship.

Snorting, Trevelyan retorted, 'Seeing as how there are stolen, top secret documents everywhere, as well as a multitude of weapons, I'm assuming that you nicked this one from Her Majesty herself.'

Bond tilted his head, looked at Q, then turned back to Trevelyan. 'Yeah, alright; I did,' he admitted.

Trevelyan sighed and dumped his bags by the door before walking closer. Q kept his eyes on the ex-agent, hoping that he didn't seem nervous or scared. Not that he _was_ scared, but he was definitely nervous. Again, Trevelyan could be bat-shit insane for all Q knew. Hopefully he wasn't. Bond wouldn't still be working with him if he was, right?

Trevelyan paused before Q and just... stared at him, which was creepy, and he didn't stop until Bond said, 'Eyes off, Alec. This one's all mine.'

_Excuse me?_ Q thought and glared at Bond, who didn't bother looking up from his papers.

'Gonna keep him, are you?' Trevelyan questioned. 'He needs to be walked twice a day and fed _at least_ -'

'I'm not a dog,' the Q interrupted, glared at the older man. 'Nor am I deaf.'

'Right,' Trevelyan hummed, 'I really don't care.'

Q scowled. Instead of being insane, Trevelyan was apparently just an arsehole. Maybe Q would just lead MI6 to him; Bond would get over it.

'So come on, let's hear it,' Trevelyan said and clapped his hands together. 'Who are you, where exactly in MI6 did you come from, and what did James do to convince you to run off into the sunset with him?'

Bond snorted before Q could reply. 'I didn't convince him, actually. He's the one who broke me out.'

'Really?' Trevelyan asked, and Bond nodded. 'Well, who are you?' he asked Q again.

Q hesitated and glanced at Bond, who didn't say a word, before looking back at Trevelyan. Bond would tell him sooner or later and, really, what was the point in hiding his former job? Q still needed Bond and Trevelyan to get out of the country.

'You can call me Q,' he finally said, and watched as Trevelyan sniffed, shifted a bit on his feet, and continued to stare. Q saw Bond smirk out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't say anything before-

'You stole the _Quartermaster_?!' Trevelyan demanded incredulously.

Bond chuckled.

'He didn't _steal me_!' Q snapped. ' _I_ broke _him_ out. I got him out of his cell, helped him get through MI6, and then helped him get _out_ of MI6. So, if anything, I stole _him_.'

'Oh my God,' Trevelyan groaned, 'James, do you  _realise_ what MI6 are gonna do? They won't stop actively hunting us for  _weeks_ ! The Quartermaster is the head of their security these days! They'll do anything to get him back!'

Apparently Trevelyan was just going to ignore Q. Sniffing, Q went back to the documents in his lap. 'You, 006,' he muttered, 'are an arsehole.'

'Excuse me?' Trevelyan growled.

Q raised an eyebrow but didn't look up. 'Oh, are you listening to me now?' he murmured.

Bond chuckled again and said, 'Stop being mean to him, Alec.'

' _Mean to him_ ?' Trevelyan demanded. 'This isn't sixth form, James. Or are you gonna hit anyone who's mean to your boyfriend?'

Q raised his hand and said, 'For the record, I'm not Bond's boyfriend.'

'Sure you aren't,' Trevelyan muttered.

'He really isn't,' Bond said, and Q glanced up to see both former agents staring at each other. 'Despite our chemistry,' Bond continued, and ignored Q's eye roll, 'we aren't sleeping together.'

Trevelyan's eyebrows furrowed and he glanced between the two. After a beat he said, 'Really?' Q and Bond both nodded. ' _Really_ ?' Trevelyan repeated. 'James, I know your type, and though the Quartermaster here isn't your  _usual_ type, sometimes you go for twinks.'

'Excuse me?' Q demanded but Trevelyan ignored him. That was another strike against the blonde bastard.

'Why haven't you slept with him yet?' Trevelyan asked.

'You know me better than that, Alec,' Bond said, a bit of annoyance creeping into his tone, 'I like this thing called  _consent_ . I'm not going to jump Q. Besides,' he added, 'Q's injured.'

When Trevelyan looked at him, Q said, 'I was shot during our escape.'

'Whatever,' Trevelyan said. Q and Bond _both_ glared at him, and Q ignored the fact that he and Bond were finally agreeing on something. 'What are you still doing here, then?' he asked Q. 'Don't you have any contacts that can pick you up?'

'I don't have _contacts_!' Q snapped. Wow, Trevelyan was fighting Bond for the title of “World's Most Annoying Bastard”. 'Where would I get contacts? No, seriously, is there a _Defecting from a Government Agency for Dumbies_?'

'We should write that,' Bond mused.

'We _really_ should,' Trevelyan agreed.

Q had changed his mind. They were both insane. 100%, _bat-shit insane_. Before Q could tell them that his tablet, sitting on the dining table to their right, started beeping rapidly. Q dropped his papers and leapt at it, Bond calling after him and Trevelyan watching.

'Shit,' Q hissed.

'What?' Bond asked.

'MI6 caught one of my viruses,' Q muttered. If they'd caught it, they could trace it. While all of Q's viruses were made to be untraceable, MI6 had some of the best hackers in the world working for them; Q would have to cover his tracks manually, just to be sure.

'Do we have to leave?' Bond asked, suddenly on his feet and at Q's side.

Q just shook his head as he tapped at his tablet.

'Are we about to get caught again?' Trevelyan groaned.

'Do you have a laptop?' Q asked, question directed at Trevelyan. The seriousness on his face, and the fact that he was stabbing at his tablet with enough force to crack the screen, must have made Trevelyan bite his tongue, because he went to his bag and dug around until he'd pulled out a slim silver laptop.

'What, can't hack anything with a tablet?' Trevelyan couldn't help but drawl as he handed his computer over. Q ignored him briefly in favour of unwinding the chord, plugging the laptop in, and booting it up.

Finally, he said, 'I'd like to see you ward off two dozen of MI6's finest hackers on a  _ tablet _ , 006.'

Bond snorted, and Q vaguely saw Trevelyan scowl out of the corner of his eye.

'I need a proper keyboard,' Q mumbled. 'And my notebook- Trevelyan, hand me my notebook. Bond, my bag.'

The double-ohs glanced at each other only briefly before doing as asked. They watched as Q drew out wires, the innards of a tablet, his complete, working tablet, and the small black box that he'd used to get Bond out of his cell at MI6. It all fit together in a few seconds and soon Q was tapping away, mostly typing on the laptop, but also touching the screen of his tablet and swiping a thumb over his mobile phone.

He cursed a bit under his breath, mumbled a few choice words at odd intervals, and scrunched his eyes and nose up as he stared at the laptop screen. Bond and Trevelyan clearly had  _ no  _ idea what Q was doing, but they left him alone; Trevelyan finally shut the hotel door and Bond made himself comfortable on the bed, though every so often he looked Q's way, clearly ready to act at a moment's notice.

Q ignored both of them in favour of keeping the three of them out of MI6 custody.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


The Quartermaster was still typing away, but his fingers had slowed over the past two or three hours, telling Alec that the crisis had been averted for now. James had gone to get dinner, leaving Alec and Q alone. Alec grabbed the chair opposite Q and sat across from him, and though the hacker didn't look up, he did raise an eyebrow.

'What's your plan with James?' Alec asked.

'My plan?' Q echoed. 'Is this the shovel talk? Are you actually giving _me_ the shovel talk?'

'Maybe,' Alec said. 'It depends on your answer to my question. What are you doing with him?'

'Bond is a means to an end,' Q responded.

'So you're using him.'

Q glanced up briefly. 'I'm using him to get out of the country, as he used me to get out of MI6. It's a mutually beneficial relationship.'

'Relationship?' Alec jumped on the word, and Q gave an amused snort.

'We're not fucking, if that's what you're still wondering,' he said, eyes back on Alec's laptop. 'We've known each other for three or four days, and we haven't spent every second together.'

'You've seen the way he looks at you,' Alec stated.

'Have I?' Alec slammed his fist against the table, jostling Q's mutated computer  _ thing _ . Unfortunately the young man didn't jolt, or gasp. He just blinked slowly, hazel eyes back on Alec. 'Was that necessary?'

'You're using him,' Alec stated, 'but I really don't think that James is using you.'

'Isn't he?'

God, the boy was  _ infuriating _ . What the hell did James see in him? Okay, Alec could admit that Q was good-looking, and clearly intelligent as well as dangerous; he had all the traits that usually attracted James to a person. But never with this intensity.

And Q was a cocky little shit.

'I know him better than you,' Alec said. 'Doesn't that mean you should take my word as truth?'

' _ Clearly  _ you know him better than I do,' Q drawled. 'You worked with him for years at MI6, then defected with him; again, I've known him for  _ four days _ . Hardly enough time to truly get a read on one's character, wouldn't you agree?'

'Has anyone ever told you that you're a smart-arse?' Alec demanded.

Q offered him a charming smile. 'Multiple times.'

'What's your plan?' Alec asked. 'You want out of the country, I get that. MI6 will find you if you stay in England. But after that, what?'

'I don't see how it concerns you.'

'It concerns me when my best friend, a man I'd  _ die for _ , is staring at you like a love-sick school boy!'

'Well, I really wouldn't know, would I?' Q said. 'I didn't know Bond when he was a school boy- in fact, I'm pretty sure that I wasn't even alive when he was a school boy. So-'

'You know what I'm saying,' Alec interrupted.

Q sighed and finally looked up at him, focusing his attention entirely on the former double-oh. 'I don't know what Bond wants, nor do I know how he looks at me,' he stated. 'We had very little time to agree on the exact terms of our arrangement. When he gets back I'll remedy that if it'll make you leave me alone.'

'Break his heart, will you?' Alec asked.

'Is 007 in the habit of falling in love in a four day time span?' Q questioned.

'It wouldn't surprise me if he did,' Alec grunted.

'I don't want to hurt him,' Q said, 'but I don't know what you want from me. Bond and I hardly know each other. I don't know what he wants, and he doesn't know what I want.'

'So tell me what you want,' Alec said.

Q sighed again and took his glasses off, using the hem of his cardigan to clean the lenses slowly. 'I want to be away from MI6,' he said. 'I went to feel moderately safe at  _ some  _ point in the near future. I want to start living again and doing what I love.'

'Hacking.'

Q inclined his head.

Alec mulled that over for a bit before saying, 'We could use a hacker.'

Q raised an eyebrow. 'Could you?'

'Neither James or I are really that competent with a computer,' Alec admitted.

'Clearly,' Q snorted.

Rolling his eyes, Alec said, 'Would you stay with us, if James offered you a good...  _ arrangement _ ?'

'I suppose,' Q shrugged. 'It's not like I have any business waiting for me. I had contacts before I was arrested, but they're probably either dead or behind bars by now. It would take time to build up new clientele, and I'd most likely resort to hacking businesses once again to provide for myself.'

'Is that what you did before MI6 caught wind of you?' Alec questioned.

Again, Q nodded. 'I grew bored, though. It was far too easy.'

'And that's why MI6 caught you,' Alec said, 'because you decided to test your skills on them.'

'I  _ mastered  _ them,' Q laughed. 'I hacked them every other week over a three year period. They only caught me because I grew sloppy.'

Alec's eyebrows rose in surprise. From what he'd seen, Q hardly seemed the type to do sloppy work. Q noted his expression, and smiled bitterly.

'My heroin addiction grew out of my control,' he revealed. 'I made too many mistakes while funding my habit.'

Alec pondered that for a few seconds, and Q went back to tapping away at the laptop before him. 'Does James know?' he asked. Q's eyebrow arched in question. 'That you were a junkie?'

'Indeed,' Q said. 'I already told him. I'm unsure if he remembers, or if it's worth remembering. An old drug habit isn't terribly important.'

'It is if it becomes a fresh habit,' Alec said.

'And I have no plans to let it become so,' Q replied. 'As long as I'm not faced with the actual drug, I feel little inclination to go get some.'

'Keep you away from heroin dealers, eh?' Alec sighed. James would want Q to come with them, wherever their next stop was. Probably Singapore, if the job was still open. Alec hadn't exactly kept tabs on their job offers after James had gone and gotten himself caught. Alec recalled an associate of James' having business for them in Greece; they could always head there if Singapore wasn't an option. And, clearly, Q didn't really care one way or another where he ended up, as long as it was far away from England and MI6.

Christ, Alec was going to have to get used to Q stealing his electronics and taking them apart, and James staring at the twink with hearts in his eyes. He wondered how long it'd be before they started fucking, forcing Alec to purchase another room. He had no wish to see  _ or  _ hear them in action.

'Goddamn it,' he grunted.

'Problem, 006?' Q questioned without glancing at him.

'I hate you and now I'm stuck with you,' Alec declared.

'The feeling is entirely mutual,' Q said. When Alec looked up, it was to see Q smirking, eyes fixed on his laptop.

'Cheeky fucker,' Alec muttered. He stood and stretched. 'Fine, I've said my piece. Just remember it.'

'I will endeavour to do so,' Q drawled, 'but really, how could I ever forget your wisdom?'

'If I stab you in your sleep, you only have yourself to blame,' Alec told him.

'And if I suffocate you with a pillow, Bond will agree that it was for the greater good,' Q retorted without missing a beat.

Alec had to laugh. It seemed that the kitty had claws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Now both Bond and Alec have referred to Q as a cat. I can't help myself :p Hopefully the next chapter comes soon. Actually, this story probably only has a couple of chapters left; I kind of want to end it with Q, Bond and Alec escaping the country, or maybe end it with them in Greece. Thoughts? I could always write an epilogue where Q's settled in and he, Bond and Alec are the very best team in criminal circles. Also, smut. I like writing smut.
> 
> Damn it, I've given myself ideas.
> 
> {Dreamer}


	9. Chapter 9

'You got... Chinese,' Q stated, glaring at the plastic bag like it'd personally offended him.

'Yes,' James replied, smiling slightly. They were standing at the dining room table, Q's computers pushed aside slightly so that there was room to eat. Alec watched as Q frowned and folded his arms over his narrow chest.

'… why?' Q finally asked, sounding exasperated.

'Because I like Chinese,' James replied. His smile had turned cocky- that teasing little quirk that told Alec his best friend was purposely being a dick. Usually it was trained on him, so Alec sat at the table to watch how someone else handled it. Alec usually threw something at James, or got him in a headlock.

'Do you remember us talking earlier, before Trevelyan burst into the room?' Q demanded. 'I've read your file, 007, I _know_ that you have a good memory.'

'I do remember our conversation,' James sniffed, 'I just chose to ignore what you said when I picked up dinner.'

'You did it on purpose,' Q growled. 'You purposely went out of your way to get food that I _told you_ I didn't want again. I'm almost positive that I read in your file that you're thirty-eight, but you're actually five, aren't you?'

'I tell him that all the time,' Alec commented, but Q and James both ignored him. Alec huffed; _rude_.

'Were you this annoying when you were a double-oh?' Q demanded.

'Yes,' James replied. 'Actually, I was more annoying. Q-Branch hated me with a passion. As did Medical.'

'I can see why,' Q drawled and grabbed a container of food, popping the lid. His lips curled up in annoyance but he sat and grabbed a pair of chopsticks, separating them with an audible _snap_.

'Now, Q, don't lump yourself in with Q-Branch,' James said. He slid into the seat opposite the boy, that cocky smirk just getting bigger. 'You're formerly of Q-Branch, remember? Maybe I should start calling you Harrison instead of Q.'

'Harrison?' Alec questioned around a mouthful of rice and pork. If he had to watch James and Q do their weird flirting, he'd at least do it on a full stomach.

Apparently the other two men were finally paying attention to him, because they both glanced over. Alec's mouth was full so he just raised his eyebrows.

Q sighed and James said, 'His real name is Harrison.'

' _That_ you remember?' Q muttered, stabbing at his food.

Alec swallowed his mouthful and murmured, ' _Harrison_ ,' under his breath. He tilted his head as he looked at Q. 'You don't look like a Harrison.'

'That's what I said,' James commented.

'How about we just stick with Q?' Q said, scowling at the former agents. 'I haven't been called Harrison since MI6 arrested me. Even M stopped calling me that after a while.'

'What did they call you, then?' James asked. 'Before you were Q?'

'X,' Q said. When James and Alec both blinked at him, Q elaborated; 'I was called “Hacker X” when they didn't know my name because I always signed the notes I left Q-Branch with an X- you know, a kiss? When M brought me in to work with Q-Branch, she didn't want anyone knowing my real name. I think she always planned for me to be the Quartermaster, or at least R, so I needed a codename. X stuck.'

'I can't believe M promoted a _criminal_ hacker,' Alec said. 'I mean, honestly, what was she expecting? That you'd just give up your old ways and work for Queen and Country?'

'She's lost her touch,' James told his best friend. He'd commandeered the spring rolls, and Alec wondered if he could steal one without getting stabbed with a chopstick. It had happened often enough in the past that Alec had to put some serious thought into the theft.

'She's lost her touch,' Alec echoed, 'yet you were still caught.'

'Extenuating circumstances,' James grunted.

'About that,' Q said, clearing his throat. He pointed his chopsticks at James when the older man looked up at him. 'How _did_ you get caught, exactly? Like I said a few days ago, you managed to evade the double-ohs sent after you for a few hours. You were the best when you were at MI6, and you haven't come close to getting captured since you defected.'

James sighed and leaned back in his seat. 'It was a mixture of poor timing and bad reflexes on my part. I worked with 005 in the past and hesitated when he cornered me. He managed to distract me just long enough for 008 to knock me out.' He scowled. 'Next time I'll aim to kill.'

Alec looked at Q, but the boy didn't even flinch. He just nodded, like it was perfectly acceptable to kill people you used to work with- or just kill people in general. Alec hummed; maybe this _wouldn't_ end badly. James and Q were already bickering like an old married couple, and Q clearly had the balls to survive their world. Alec had seen Q's bullet wound when James had returned and changed the dressing; it would have hurt like fuck, but Q had managed to keep it together and direct James out of MI6. Alec still didn't particularly _like_ the Quartermaster, but he was... okay, Alec supposed.

'I hate you,' Q sighed suddenly, and Alec looked up to see James smirking.

'Don't lie,' the blonde replied.

'I'm not.' Q glared at him. 'I really, _really_ hate you. If I hadn't broken you out of your cage, I'd be sitting at home right now enjoying pizza. Or curry. I wouldn't be eating rice _again_ because a former double-oh likes annoying me.'

James tilted his head. 'You're adorable when you're annoyed,' he said. He winked when Q's eyes narrowed.

'I've decided to join you!' Q announced. 'When we're all set up in Greece or France, I'll hack things for you. I'll get you into whatever top-secret facility or giant manor house your work takes you to. And, when you're cornered, needing my technical skills, I'll leave you to get shot multiple times. 006 will have to carry you out and I'll feed you nothing but rice when you're on bed rest.'

James hummed softly, blue eyes on Q as he mulled over the boy's words. Alec glanced between the two while his hand crept towards the packet of spring rolls sitting before James.

'All I heard was that you'll spoon-feed me while I'm on bed rest,' James eventually said. He fluttered his eyelashes, 'I knew you loved me, Q.' He then slapped Alec's hand, making the older man yelp. 'Alec, stay away from my spring rolls.'

'I hate you too,' Alec sniffed. 'I'm not carrying you out when Q gets you shot, okay? You can _crawl_.'

'I dislike you less, 006,' Q said, beaming at Alec, who smiled back.

James pouted. 'You're both being terribly mean to me.'

'Don't piss off the guy who can bring MI6 down on your head,' Q stated.

'And who will get you out of the country if I'm captured again?' James asked.

'I will!' Alec threw his hand up, scattering rice everywhere. Q wrinkled his nose and James snorted. 'Actually, we should talk about that,' Alec continued. He stood to lean over the table and hunt through the bag of food James had brought back, digging until he found noodles and prawn crisps.

'Talk about what?' Q asked. 'Bond's complete lack of respect for me?'

'Or perhaps we should talk about what a cocky little shit you are,' James said.

Q raised an eyebrow. 'Pot; kettle,' he replied.

'Is that your way of asking for tea?' James retorted.

Alec groaned and thought about thunking his head against the table. But he didn't like the idea of damaging his pretty face, so decided to steam-roll over Q and James' flirting- seriously, did they _ever_ stop?- and said, 'How are we getting out of the country, James?'

James turned from where he was grinning broadly at Q, who was wearing a huffy look that made him look like he was fourteen. 'Mario?' he suggested.

'No, he's being watched by MI5,' Alec said.

James frowned. 'Since when?'

'Since about a week ago; I was going to tell you, but we had bigger problems,' Alec explained. 'How about Spencer?'

'So MI5 is onto Mario but not Spencer?' James asked.

'Spencer knows not to fuck around with too many terrorists,' Alec replied.

'That was _one time_ ,' James groaned. 'Mario didn't know that Coates was a wannabe terrorist.'

'Please, Coates had terrorist written all over him,' Alec muttered. He shovelled more noodles into his mouth and mumbled as he chewed, 'What about Neville?'

James pondered that briefly before nodding.

'A little more expensive,' Alec added, 'but he'll be able to get a fake passport for Q in only three or four days.'

'I know, that's why I'm agreeing with you,' James said. 'If we use Spencer we'll have to contact Patterson or Nagasaki for a passport, and they always take a week, minimum.' He turned away from Alec to fix his eyes on Q, who'd remained silent as he watched them. 'Does that sound okay to you?'

'I have no goddamn clue what you two are talking about,' Q stated. Alec snorted. 'If you trust these people then I'm fine.'

'Really?' James asked.

Q gave him a pointed look. 'I trusted you enough to break you out of MI6, didn't I?'

Alec watched as James' eyes softened; it was the look he sometimes wore when reminiscing about Vesper Lynd, only the usual flash of pain that followed was nowhere to be found. God, a lovesick James was even harder to deal with than a depressed James; at least when James was depressed Alec could join him in drowning his sorrows. Alec did _not_ want to join James in his little love-fest.

Rather than outright admit to the very serious hard-on he had for Q, James grabbed a spring roll and offered it to the hacker; 'Want one?'

Alec's mouth dropped open when Q nodded and accepted it, taking a big bite and smiling slightly at James.

' _He_ gets one and I don't?' Alec demanded. 'I'm your best friend, James! We went through training together! I've saved your life a hundred fucking times!'

'Q's adorable and looks sexy in plaid trousers,' James said, eyes not leaving the man in question.

'I am _not_ adorable,' Q said, and... dear God, he was _pouting_.

'Yes you are,' James smiled.

'Am not.'

'Are too.'

'Really, 007?' Q demanded.

James smirked.

'You are a child,' Q muttered and took another bite of his roll.

'I'll be anything you want me to be, dear Q,' James purred in reply.

Alec gagged on his rice and pork, but neither James or Q noticed. No, they were too busy passive-aggressively flirting with each other and being all around sickening. And they'd only known each other for _four days_. It was going to get worse, Alec knew it. His future would be filled with disgusting flirting, cocky bastards trying to one-up each other, and James and Q fucking all over the place. Alec loved James, he really did, but he didn't need to see him mounting the skinny twink he'd decided to bring home with him.

'We're leaving in three days!' he declared over Q snapping that he wasn't in any way, shape, or form a _kitten_ , while James grinned and teased. They finally shut up and looked at him. 'I'll contact Neville and get everything sorted, you two just... take your flirting somewhere else!'

With that he grabbed another container of food, scowled at them both, and marched over to the TV. Maybe if he turned it up he could drown them out.

After a brief period of sweet, sweet silence, Q asked, 'Is he always that dramatic?'

'You've worked with double-ohs before,' James replied. 'Aren't we always?'

'I was hoping you two would be different,' Q groaned.

'Nope,' James replied; Alec could _hear_ the grin in his voice.

'You double-ohs exist merely to annoy me,' Q complained.

'We double-ohs existed long before you were born,' James said. 'Were you even out of nappies when I became a double-oh?'

'Oh, funny, 007, _very_ funny,' Q retorted. 'You do realise that you just called yourself old, right?'

'I prefer to think of myself as experienced.'

'I prefer to think of you as idiotic.'

'There you go hurting my feelings again. At this rate I'll begin to think that you don't like me.'

'And me saying “I hate you” countless times over the last 24 hours didn't clue you into that fact?'

'You wound me, Q.'

'That was the idea.'

'Oh my fucking God, shut up!' Alec snapped.

They didn't.

Alec considered killing them both and fleeing the country himself. Nobody would miss them.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Q honestly hadn't expected the teasing, bullying, and downright childishness that Bond and Trevelyan participated in. James Bond and Alec Trevelyan were government-trained killers; perhaps the _best_ double-ohs to ever go through MI6's rigorous training programme. They had turned their backs on MI6, escaped multiple agencies that hunted them like dogs, and made very good money working for criminals everywhere.

Yet they fought over what to watch on TV, who got the last of the curry chicken, and challenged each other to see who could disassemble their weapon the fastest. They'd also tried to dismantle one of Q's computers, but had scurried away with their tails tucked between their legs when Q threatened to rip their balls off.

They were children. Tall, well-built, terrifying children who were growing on Q like nobody else ever had. Q already knew that James Bond was the exception, but that apparently extended to Alec Trevelyan, too. Q didn't like him nearly as much as he liked Bond, but Trevelyan was... charming, funny, and a good man (you know, despite his defection and job as a hired-gun). Trevelyan was like... Bond-Lite. Or Bond 2.0. He didn't have Bond's rougher edges, he wasn't as _infuriating_ as Bond, and he didn't feel the need to follow Q around like a puppy for the sole-purpose of annoying the fuck out of him.

Q could actually see himself becoming good friends with Trevelyan. Their friendship would be based on sharp barbs and constant arguing, but it'd still be a friendship. Q had never had a friend before; at least not one that hadn't tried to sell him heroin.

It'd probably make Bond happy if he and Alec got along, Q mused as he tapped at his laptop- Alec was never getting it back, not that he seemed to care. Bond and Trevelyan were sitting on the bed arguing over the documents Q had brought with him; Alec wanted to hit one of MI6's safe houses because he knew for a fact that they kept good weapons there (he'd been to a few of the houses, apparently). Bond wanted Q to hack one of MI6's bank accounts and steal the agency's money. The Singapore job had already been given to someone else- Alec had ranted and raved on his mobile to someone in what Q thought might have been Mandarin- and Bond wanted MI6 to pay for the lost money.

'Isn't stealing their Quartermaster enough?' Alec snapped.

'Why do you keep forgetting that _I_ stole _him_?' Q demanded loudly.

'Psh,' Alec waved a hand at him, 'that's what James _wants_ you to think. I bet as soon as he set his eyes on you he decided to take you with him.'

'Actually, he took one look at me and refused to believe I was the Quartermaster,' Q said.

'I didn't refuse to believe it,' Bond retorted, 'I just thought that you were joking.'

'Yes, yes, because I still have spots,' Q muttered under his breath.

'They're lovely spots,' Bond drawled, and then smiled brightly when Q glanced at him.

'I'm gonna shoot you both,' Alec muttered. 'In the gut, so you die slowly and painfully.'

'Your words hurt, Alec,' James said, 'didn't your mother teach you not to be mean?'

'If I had a mother I wouldn't have been a double-oh,' Alec said.

James hummed. 'True,' he agreed. 'We should start a sad orphans club,' he added after a beat.

Q snorted. 'Starting a defectors club not good enough for you, 007?'

'The Lonely Orphans Club will involve a lot more sex,' Bond told him.

'We've gone from sad to lonely,' Q mused. 'Is that your way of saying you need attention, Bond?'

'Yes,' Bond stated and tossed his documents aside. 'Dear, sweet, wonderful Q, please come over here and lavish me with attention.'

'Just keep your clothes on while I'm in the room,' Alec grunted without looking up.

Q rolled his eyes and looked back at his computer. 'In your dreams, 007,' he sniffed and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Q could _hear_ the smirk in Bond's voice when the older man said, 'I've told you about my dreams already, Q; you star in all of them. But it's okay, if you want to hear them again, I'm happy to provide the details. So, the dream last night involved you, me, a tub of strawberries, and-'

'Seriously, James?' Alec interrupted, his face dark. 'You need help, my friend.'

'I need Q's help,' Bond replied immediately. 'Q, I have this problem in my trousers; it's a very _tight_ problem and only your healing hand can save me.'

'Were these delusions present when you worked for MI6 or is it a recent thing?' Q asked without looking at the agent in question.

'I'm pretty sure they started the moment he set eyes on you,' Alec muttered.

'Very true,' Bond said. 'Help me, Q; you're my only hope.'

Q jolted at that and peeked over the top of his laptop; Bond was already staring at him. ' _Star Wars_?' Q questioned.

'Of course you're a nerd,' Alec grunted. He tossed some documents at Bond, who scowled when the clip came free, showering him in paper.

'I prefer the term _invested fan_ ,' Q sniffed. 'It makes me sound less deranged.'

'But you _are_ deranged,' Alec said, pointing at him.

'Careful, 006,' Q said, 'I might just send you out for cigarettes and accidentally tell MI6 where you are.'

Alec huffed. 'Why do I get threats and James doesn't?'

'I threaten him every other sentence,' Q said.

'You _flirt_ with him every other sentence,' Alec corrected. 'Don't deny it, Q.'

'Yes, Q, don't deny it,' James cooed. He slouched back against the headboard and tugged at his collar; Q's eyes immediately dropped to his neck and to the stupid buttons keeping Bond's chest covered. 'I prefer physical threats to verbal ones,' James added, 'so feel free to get _physical_ with me.'

Q shook his head and looked back at his computer. 'You need to be spayed.'

'Excellent idea; come and do it yourself,' Bond suggested.

'Oh my God,' Trevelyan groaned. He flopped back onto the bed and glared at the ceiling. 'I hate you both so very, very much. Maybe I'll call MI6 myself. At least there I won't have to listen to you two fucking flirting every five seconds.'

'We'll just get caught and join you,' James said.

'We'll make sure we get cells either side of you so you can _really_ hear our flirting,' Q added.

Q ducked when Trevelyan threw a pen at him, and snickered when Trevelyan tackled Bond to the floor, trying to get him to stop flirting.

Bond wouldn't stop, and neither would Q; it was fun and, someday soon, Q would act on every suggestion Bond had proposed. Maybe when they were in Greece or France, finally safe from MI6.

Unless Bond started walking around naked or something... Q didn't think he'd be able to control himself if he caught a better look at James Bond.

'Ow, my fucking eye!' Trevelyan shouted.

'You hit me in the crotch!' Bond snapped.

'You deserved it!' Trevelyan retorted.

Q sighed and shook his head. 'Children,' he muttered under his breath and pointedly ignored the scuffle going on before him. And, if he happened to cheer when Alec ripped James' shirt right down the middle, well... at least the former double-ohs were too busy grappling to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** It's SO much easier writing “Alec” instead of “Trevelyan”, seriously. I need to start researching Greece or France so that when I write that chapter it's at least vaguely believable. Not that I'll be going into much detail... I just really want Bond and Q to be in some far off country when they finally shack up ;)
> 
> Anywho, thanks for all the comments and kudos, I appreciate them!
> 
> {Dreamer}


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** References to off-screen violence, torture and rape

_'Bond was caught,' Alec said as he stormed into M's office._

_The woman scowled at him. 'I am aware of that, 006,' she said._

_'Well?' Alec demanded. 'When are we going in to get him?'_

_M sighed and pushed the file she'd been reading aside. '007 getting caught was part of the plan, 006,' M said._

_Alec paused from where he'd been about to throw himself into the chair before M's desk. 'Excuse me?' he asked._

_'Bond getting caught was part of the plan,' M stated. 'Bond getting caught drew O'Reilly's attention, leaving 003 and 008 free to get Dr Franks.'_

_'You... James didn't mention that,' Alec said slowly, eyes on M._

_M shrugged one shoulder. 'It wasn't in his mission debriefing.'_

_'Wait,' Alec held a hand up, 'you didn't tell James that his mission was to get caught?'_

_'Negative,' M said. 'Bond is terrible at getting caught and held, as you well know. The cabinet and I agreed to keep the details to ourselves, 003 and 008.'_

_'Then why aren't we rescuing him?' Alec demanded, moving closer to the desk. 'If James didn't know that him getting caught was part of the plan, he'll be expecting a rescue! He won't plan one himself.'_

_'England can't be caught sending agents into the Republic of Ireland,' M said sharply. 'Sooner or later Bond will get himself home. Or...' she trailed off and looked at Alec pointedly._

_Alec couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that all agents- double-ohs especially- expected to be caught or killed in action eventually, sometimes both. But they were always,_ always _told what missions were the most dangerous, when to expect to fail. Nearly every double-oh who had died in action had known going into the mission that there was a high chance they wouldn't be coming home._

_But Bond had been told that this was a routine mission, something he could easily complete. He hadn't been told that he was a pawn, the bait, and that he was being left to rot at the hands of a sadist in fucking_ Ireland _. Bond would be tortured to death before he realised that MI6- that 003 and 008- weren't coming for him._

_Alec was under no illusion that the agents of MI6 were more important than the missions carried out, or the country itself. But he'd thought that they were at least being treated like fucking human beings. That M would fuck James over like this was..._ sickening _._

_'You're dismissed, 006,' M said, wrenching Alec from his thoughts. 'Either Bond comes home or he dies in action,' she added, eyes once more on the folder spread before her._

_Alec scowled but managed to grit out, 'Ma'am,' before he turned and stalked away._

_Fuck M and fuck MI6. If nobody was going after James, Alec would fucking go himself._

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Alec frowned from where he was sitting in the corner. Q was tapping away at Alec's former laptop, at his mobile and tablet, too. He was grinning to himself, which didn't bode well for anyone, Alec thought. James was in the shower, _thank God_ ; it meant that Alec _finally_ got a break from his and Q's constant flirting.

Alec and James had contacted Neville Barton two days prior, and the man had agreed to get together three fake passports, as well as look into the cargo he had flying out within the next two weeks. Neville had always been a good friend of Alec's; his father had gotten James and Alec out of the country when they'd defected from MI6.

The passports weren't really needed to get out of England, not if they smuggled themselves out on one of Neville's cargo flights. But they'd need them once they reached France or Greece. If Q wanted to disappear, he'd need a new identity to do it.

Alec once again pondered the... _thing_ that was James Bond and the former Quartermaster of MI6. From what he'd gathered, Q and James still hadn't really discussed whatever was happening between them; Q hadn't stated that he was going to stay with the two double-ohs, and Bond hadn't outright asked. No, they'd just flirted and eye-fucked and James had pranced around the hotel without a shirt on at least forty times. And then Q, when James had inspected his bandages the day before, had done the exact same thing, only he'd stripped down to his boxers.

Alec really needed some brain bleach to wipe the memory of James ogling the boy for an hour straight.

Sighing, Alec went back to cleaning his multitude of weapons. He really wanted to hit one of MI6's safe houses- they had four in England just in case MI6 was ever breached, and one each in Scotland, the Republic of Ireland, and Wales. They could rob one before they left the country.

But _noo_ , James and Q didn't want to risk it; well, _Q_ didn't want to risk it, and of course James agreed. He was wrapped around Q's finger already and they hadn't even _fucked yet_. It was going to get worse, Alec just knew it.

Alec sighed again and Q chose that moment to glance up from his computer screen for the first time in three hours. 'Would you please stop making that noise, 006?' he drawled. 'It's rather annoying.'

Alec glared at him. 'Q, would you _please_ stop staring at James' arse? It's sickening.'

The boy blushed, Alec smirked, and the bathroom door opened before Q could snap out a comeback.

James, of course, only had a _very small_ towel wrapped around his waist. Alec snorted when Q's eyes immediately darted to James, the blonde grinning when he realised he had Q's attention. He wandered over to his pack and started rummaging about for clean clothes, Q's eyes glued to his barely-hidden arse the entire time.

James dropped the towel and Alec averted his eyes; he noted that Q didn't. Alec had seen James naked countless times, because James was in the habit of getting shot and/or stabbed at least once during every job they undertook. Q, _clearly_ , wasn't used to a naked James Bond, so really took the time to drink it all in while Alec shook his head and cleaned his weapons.

Really, it was getting ridiculous. Alec had been with them for _three days_ and all they did was _stare_ and _flirt_ and fucking _stare some more_. Hopefully when they finally slept together it would stop and Alec _wouldn't have to see it all the fucking time_.

Q finally tore his eyes away from James when the older man pulled some pants and trousers on.

'What are you doing, Q?' James asked, turning to survey the hacker as he buttoned his trousers.

'Things,' Q murmured.

'Things?' James echoed, his lips tilting up in amusement.

Q rolled his eyes. 'If I went into detail you wouldn't understand.'

'Are you saying I'm stupid?' James asked.

'Yes,' Q said, voice completely serious, 'that is _exactly_ what I'm saying, 007. Bravo.'

James chuckled and turned to grab a polo shirt.

'Anyway,' Q drawled, pushing his glasses up his nose, 'I was just finishing up a project I started. Now that you're _finally_ done with the bathroom, I'm going to shower.'

'Make sure you don't wet your bandages, Q,' James said, voice soft, no tease to be heard.

Q blinked at him slowly before he just nodded, then he grabbed some clothes from is bag and left. The bathroom door shut with a click behind him and James immediately turned on Alec, eyes narrowed.

'What?' Alec demanded. As far as he knew he hadn't done anything in at _least_ 12 hours.

'Why do you hate Q so much?' James asked.

'Oh my God,' Alec groaned. He tipped his head back, his skull connecting with the wall.

'No, seriously,' James said, 'why do you hate him?'

Alec sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair. 'Everything you care about hurts you,' Alec said, thinking about M, MI6, England in general and, of course, Vesper Lynd. He didn't voice any of that aloud, because those were sure fire ways to get a knife to the gut from James Bond. James heard it all, though, if the tightening around his mouth and eyes was anything to go by.

'You think Q's going to hurt me?' he questioned.

'He will if you care about him,' Alec responded. 'Caring about someone gives them power over you.'

'Q won't intentionally hurt me,' James said.

Alec laughed. 'Because you know him _so_ well.'

'I'm an excellent judge of character,' James sniffed.

'Yeah, right,' Alec chuckled again.

James shook his head. 'It doesn't matter how I feel about Q, anyway.'

'Oh _really_?'

The younger man nodded. 'He wants us to get him out of the country. After that I don't know what his plans are.'

Alec glanced at him. James was staring at the wall, and to your average person he'd seem absolutely fine. But Alec was a trained spy, and he'd known James for years; they were best friends, they lived and _worked_ together. Alec could see how upset James felt at the thought of Q leaving.

_Jesus Christ,_ Alec thought,  _they need to use their words_ .

'Just ask Q what his plans are,' Alec suggested.

'I don't want to,' James muttered, 'what if he doesn't want to stay?'

_Oh my God! I hate you both_ . Alec's left hand tightened around the bottle of gun oil and he had to take a deep breath and force himself to relax. 'James,' he said, waiting until his friend was looking at him before continuing, 'James. You're thirty-eight years-old. Q is twenty-three years-old. Both of you are old enough to use your words and have a real,  _adult_ conversation. Just  _ask him_ . He wants to stay.'

'Do you think so?' James asked, practically  _perking_ up.

Alec rolled his eyes. 'I hate you,' he declared. 'But yes, he wants to stay.'

James was silent at that and after a beat he went to sit on the bed. He started going through the documents Q had stolen from MI6 for what must have been the hundredth time since his escape. Alec didn't say anything, though. James was usually all silent-and-broody when he had something serious to think about. Soon enough he'd be back to his usual charming, annoying self.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_After talking to the pilot- an old and_ very _discrete friend of Alec's- Alec headed into the back of the cargo plane. James was still slumped against one wall and the boy- Elliot, James had called him- was curled up at his side, his tangled, dirty hair hiding his face._

_'Okay,' Alec said after he'd sat beside James, keeping his voice low, 'now are you gonna tell me who the kid is?'_

_'He just said his name's Elliot,' James murmured. He was speaking slowly, carefully, to avoid breaking open the multitude of cuts on his face. The arsehole who'd caught him- O'Reilly- had really done a number on James. They'd whipped him, beat him, and nearly raped him, too. Thankfully Alec had arrived just in time. 'O'Reilly kidnapped Elliot when he was a kid- his dad used to work for O'Reilly,' James continued. 'He...' James sighed and glanced pointedly at Alec, who just nodded. Alec didn't need James to go into detail; he could imagine what a psycho like O'Reilly had been doing to the poor lad._

_And he_ was _a lad; Elliot couldn't be older than fifteen, sixteen._

_'Anyway,' James said, clearing his throat softly, 'Elliot helped me. He brought me food and water, and told me that he could help me escape if I took him with me. We were still planning when you showed up.' Here he smiled at Alec, and Alec grinned and clapped him gently on the shoulder in return._

_'What are we going to tell M?' Alec asked after a brief moment of silence._

_James sighed. 'I suppose I'll just say I escaped; I've done it before.'_

_'And Elliot?' Alec questioned._

_James' jaw tightened and he glanced down at the boy. Elliot looked small, beaten, yet peaceful at the same time. Alec had to wonder how long the poor boy had been with O'Reilly; how many years had he lived in constant terror before James and Alec had rescued him?_

_Neither double-oh was under the impression that M would_ care _about the boy; she was all about MI6, about England. People were just tools to be used to protect the country. If she found out that James brought back a boy who'd heard Alec and James discuss their jobs with MI6...?_

_'I'll take care of him,' James murmured, 'I'll get him a new identity. He'll disappear in the system. It'll be better than his old life.'_

_'Okay,' Alec said. James looked at him. 'I won't tell M about him,' Alec promised._

_'And I won't tell M that you disappeared and rescued me,' James replied._

_Alec snorted and leaned back against the wall. The plane rocked them both against each other and neither said a word, happy to sit with just the general aeroplane's noises for company. Elliot slept through it all, safely pressed against James' side._

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It was Alec's turn to get lunch and when he left it was with a pointed look at James and Q. James rolled his eyes and then flipped his friend off, but Alec just smirked and slammed the hotel room door shut behind him. The sudden, loud noise made Q jolt and glance up from his computer.

'Alec went to get lunch,' James explained.

'Oh,' Q said. Then, he sniffed; 'Hopefully he doesn't get Chinese.'

'He might,' James said, grinning when Q looked at him.

The younger man scowled. 'From what I've seen, 006 _is_ an arsehole, but he doesn't go out of his way to annoy me, unlike _other_ double-ohs I've become familiar with.'

'You wouldn't be talking about me now, would you, Q?' James asked, lips forming a pout. 'Because that would _hurt_.'

'You'll survive,' Q drawled. His eyes went back to his computer as James chuckled. The older man watched him for about a minute, maybe two, before crossing to the table. He sat opposite Q and didn't say a word until the hacker looked up. 'Can I help you, Bond?' he asked.

'Yes, you can,' James said.

Q looked surprised at the answer, but soon waved a hand. 'Okay...?'

James tilted his head, ran his eyes over what he could see of Q's body. He thought about the moment he'd first set eyes on Q, this young man, this _boy_ , who'd turned out to be the Quartermaster and the one man who could get James out of MI6's clutches.

'Bond?' Q prompted.

'What are your plans for after we get out of the country?' James asked.

Q frowned slightly. 'My plans,' he echoed, and the former double-oh nodded. 'I'm... honestly not sure,' Q said slowly. 'I suppose that I'll go back to hacking.'

'Is there any country in particular you went to settle down in?' James asked.

'France or Greece, I suppose,' Q said. 'I can speak French.'

'So you've mentioned,' James commented. 'Alec and I are set-up in Greece for the time being. It's nice.'

'Okay...' Q repeated. He pushed his glasses back up.

'You could stay with us,' James said. He sounded far too hopeful, hesitant, even to his own ears, and it made him scowl lightly.

'You don't look happy about that prospect,' Q muttered.

James glanced back up to find Q staring hard at his laptop. 'I didn't meant it like that!' he near-shouted, making Q jump and then frown at him. 'Sorry,' James muttered. He groaned and reached up to rub his face. 'I'm not really... good at this,' he admitted.

'Good at what?' Q asked.

'At... asking for what I want- what I _really_ want,' he said.

'What do you really want?'

'I want...' James growled in frustration and decided, _to hell with it_. He stood quickly and rounded the table. Before Q could protest, James fisted a hand in his shirt, dragged the younger man up, and pressed their mouths together. Q was immobile for all of one, two seconds, before he started kissing back.

James made a soft sound of pleasure that was muffled against Q's mouth. The hacker made a noise in response and kissed James harder, his hands coming up to grab at James' shirt and drag him closer. James went willingly, sinking into the kiss. He licked at Q's mouth and then dove in when Q's lips parted.

The boy tasted sweet, like the tea he'd been drinking all day, and James licked and bit and sucked until all he could taste was _Q_. And god, it was _addicting_. If Q said no- if he didn't want to stay- it was going to take a hell of a long time for James to get over him.

Q chose that moment to break the kiss, but he didn't go far. He leaned back slightly and breathed in and out heavily. His glasses had slid down his nose at the force of James' kiss and he reached up to slowly righten them.

'Well...' Q murmured and licked his lips. James made a soft noise of annoyance; goddamn it, he wanted another kiss. He leaned forward to do just that, only to find Q's entire hand pressed against his face. James raised an eyebrow, which made Q smirk. 'Just a second, 007.' James rolled his eyes. 'Do you want me to come with you and stay?' Q asked. 'Because that's what I took the whole kissing thing to mean.' James nodded and Q removed his hand. 'Ask,' Q said.

'Q...' James said slowly. He wound an arm around the smaller man's waist, smiling when Q pressed against him. 'I want you to stay. Because I like you and because Alec and I really could use a hacker. It'd make our jobs easier.'

'I see,' Q said.

'Well...?'

Q hummed and tilted his head, hazel eyes bright behind his glasses. 'I dunno,' he said, but he had a smile playing on his lips, 'I might need to be convinced some more.'

James growled and kissed him again, harsher this time, using the arm around Q's waist to crush their bodies together. Q made no complaints- just pressed closer, bit at James' lips until he opened up, Q's tongue exploring this time. James backed him up against the table and heard Q's various electronics bump across the top, but both men ignored it in favour of sliding their lips together.

James had no idea how long they kissed for; he was only aware of Q's warm, spit-slick lips, his clever, clever tongue, the way he rubbed himself against James and grabbed at his arse, tugging the taller man closer. They didn't stop until the hotel room opened, Alec stomping in with a bag of food in one hand.

' _Finally_ ,' Alec muttered as he slammed the door shut. 'Does this mean you two are gonna stop flirting every five fucking seconds?'

James slowly eased out of the kiss and grinned; Q looked thoroughly debauched, his hair sticking up from James' questing fingers, his lips swollen a bright, bright red.

Q blinked a few times before opening his eyes completely. Then, he smirked. 'Don't count on it, 006,' he drawled. 'Our behaviour annoys you, which gives me _endless_ enjoyment.'

Alec swore and Q chuckled. This was going to be good; James could tell.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


_Alec found James sitting at the kitchen island in his small flat, a bottle of scotch to one side, a full glass clutched in one fist. James glanced up at him when he approached and grimaced. 'You found out who killed Elliot,' he said._

_'Yeah,' Alec admitted._

_'Well?' James asked._

_Alec frowned and sat at a right angle to James, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the counter-top._

_'Alec...' James growled._

_Sighing, Alec leaned back. 'It was M.' James froze, his hand tightened around the glass, and his eyes darkened. 'James-'_

_'I knew it,' James interrupted. He threw back half his drink and topped up the glass before taking another sip. 'I fucking_ knew it _.'_

_'I don't know how she found out,' Alec said. 'But I managed to get 008 to admit that he'd been sent to assassinate some fifteen-year-old kid in the foster system. He didn't know why, but he didn't question his orders. They came directly from M.'_

_James shook his head and closed his eyes. Alec could read the grief in the set of James' shoulders and the way his knuckles were going white as he squeezed his glass._

_'It wasn't your fault, James,' Alec tried._

_'Of course it was my fault!' James snapped. 'I brought him here! I got his papers! I must have left a trail, or fucked up, or-'_

_'James!' Alec interrupted. 'It's_ not your fault _. You tried to give the kid a decent life!'_

_'He saved my life and I got him killed,' James muttered, his shoulders falling. 'He brought me food every day that O'Reilly had me. He offered himself up just so I could rest. He let O'Reilly-' James cut himself off, his mouth turning into a hard, thin line. 'I promised to protect him,' he muttered. 'And I got him_ killed _.'_

_'It was M, not you,' Alec tried. 'She was the one who ordered his death.'_

_'Why?' James demanded. 'The kid was never going to tell anyone! He just wanted to be a normal fucking teenager!' James stood suddenly and threw his glass across the room. Alec didn't flinch, not even when James turned to slam his fist into the wall. 'Why the fuck would M do that?' James demanded. 'He was an innocent kid!'_

_'She couldn't take any chances,' Alec said. James rounded on him and the older man held his hands up. 'I didn't say that I agreed with her, James, just that I understand. She_ couldn't _take any chances; Elliot knew too much about you, me and MI6. If he'd blabbed-'_

_'He wouldn't,' James muttered. 'He just wanted to be_ normal _. He wanted to be goddamn_ safe _.' He fell against the wall, a picture of dejection and... and loss. 'Christ,' James said. 'I can't do this any more, Alec.'_

_Alec frowned. 'What do you mean?'_

_'I just can't... every day, every_ week _, I go out there and got shot and stabbed, and for what?' James demanded. 'For Queen and country? For M? I'm sick of screwing people over and watching people die just so that everybody else can be happy. I can't take a fucking break without Medical trying to analyse me afterwards. I can't question anything because M and the fucking arseholes who run MI6 are always fucking right. I'm left to rot if I make one goddamn mistake and... innocent people- kids like Elliot- are caught in the crossfires and_ executed  _just in fucking case! I... I can't...'_

_James' voice had been strong,_ hard _, but he trailed off at the end, words cracking until he went silent._

_Alec didn't say a word. He'd be a liar if he said he hadn't seen this coming. James had always gotten the hardest, the most emotionally demanding, missions; one of the downfalls of being the best double-oh. Each mission had taken its toll, had worn James down, until he was so rough around the edges that even MI6 could see that he was falling apart. Alec had just figured that James would get himself killed during a mission or fake his death and... disappear. He didn't think that James would_ tell him _._

_'I can't do this any more,' James repeated. He looked up at Alec, his eyes hard. 'I'm sorry, Alec, but I can't.'_

_Alec just nodded._

_'I'm going to kill 008 and then I'm going to disappear,' James added. The absolute, deadly_ certainty  _in James' voice told Alec that he was in no way joking._

_'MI6 will come after you if you do that,' Alec said. 'You could fake your death, you know. MI6 would leave you alone. Kill 008 and you'll be labelled a defector and terrorist.'_

_'I don't care,' James shrugged. 'I need weapons, anyway; tech, equipment. I'll take it before I disappear. I'd like to see MI6 find me.' He paused and looked Alec over. 'I don't want to kill you, Alec.'_

_Alec smiled slightly. He knew what James was thinking; as an agent of Her Royal Majesty's MI6, he should take James down now, haul him to MI6, and turn him in for defection. He should contact Security Section and M immediately; James had just told Alec that he was planning on killing a fellow double-oh._

_Alec's training told him to take James down. But... he was James Bond. He was Alec's best friend, his_ brother.  _He was the only person at MI6 who Alec actually_ liked _. Alec had never been close with any of the other double-ohs, and neither had James. After all they'd been through, could Alec really take James in? Could he_ kill  _James if it came to that? He'd be sent after the former 007, of that Alec had no doubt. The double-ohs always were when one of their own turned._

_Alec glanced up; James hadn't looked away. Alec knew what he had to do... what he_ wanted  _to do._

_'I'm coming with you,' Alec said._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Originally I had zero plans to actually reveal the reason James and Alec defected, and that was mainly because I couldn't think of a reason. Then I did, and my computer died, taking with it the back story I'd written. Thus, I had to re-write it and I hate what I came up with, because it's nowhere near as good as the original story that I can only just remember; it's just... eh, garbage, I think.
> 
> Anywho, there are probably be only two or three chapters left; Q, James and Alec escaping the country, then them set up in Greece.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {Dreamer}


End file.
